


Linger

by Soleya



Category: Stargate SG-1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:31:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 27,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8353435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soleya/pseuds/Soleya
Summary: An assignment at the SGC was Sam Carter's dream. More than that, it was a fresh start. But SG-1 wasn't quite what she'd prepared for. And maybe she hadn't shaken the past quite as thoroughly as she'd thought. Canon.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Amara for reading it over for me. Lyrics are Missy Higgins and Sheryl Crow.

_'Cause I don't know  
_ _I don't know  
_ _Who I am without you  
_ _All I know  
_ _Is that I should..._

_May, 1993_

Sam watched the beads of condensation on her water glass slowly build up and drip down the sides, sinking into the paper coaster on the bar and spreading into a dark circle. Blowing out a tense breath, she straightened her skirt for the eightieth time. Why, why was she always so early? If she hadn't been here fifteen minutes early, she could have spent fifteen fewer minutes freaking out.

"Is this seat taken?"

Glancing over her shoulder, she cast the tall, dark-haired man a smile. Looking at him, she kind of wished it wasn't. "Sorry. I'm actually waiting for someone."

"Yeah? Girls' night out?" he suggested with a mischievous grin.

"Uh... wow," she managed, though she couldn't quite erase the smile despite the implication that she couldn't get a date. "I think I'm insulted."

"No, no, that was just me being hopeful. Boyfriend, then?"

"I... no," she said. "Not really."

He raised an eyebrow. "Huh. I'm back to being hopeful, then, but I'm very, very confused."

Oh, she didn't want to tell him the truth, but there was something about him that she couldn't let walk away. Still... "It's embarrassing," she admitted with a cringe. "My friends, they... they set me up with this guy. It's a blind date. And I hate blind dates. And I hate _first_ dates, so..."

"Well, you look great," he told her. "He's a lucky guy."

Blushing, she looked away – she'd never been very comfortable with praise like that.

And for the first time, she noticed the rose in his far hand.

He caught her looking. "A very lucky guy."

"And he's... you," she choked out, nose wrinkling as her embarrassment morphed into complete mortification. Gleeful, charmed out of her socks – er, stockings – mortification.

"That depends. Sam?"

"Yes?"

He held out the rose. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Jonas."


	2. Chapter 2

_July, 1997_

Daniel Jackson, completely unsurprisingly, found Captain Sam Carter in her lab. The team had only been together a few weeks, but it hadn't taken long for him to figure out how easily she lost herself in her work.

It was one of the many things they had in common.

But her science was completely different than his, and he watched her for a moment as equations flowed out of the end of her dry-erase marker as easily as water. One whiteboard was already full, and the second was in serious danger, half-written on and quickly losing ground. And though it was almost entirely letters, he had absolutely no idea what any of it meant. Hers was one language he didn't speak.

"Doctor Carter."

Clearly surprised at the sound of his voice – at having a visitor at all, most likely – she spun to face him, the marker still ready in her hand. "Doctor Jackson," she greeted. "What can I help you with?"

"Hmm? Nothing."

Yet still he stood there, and an amused grin crossed her face as she clipped the cap on the dry-erase pen. "Okay..."

"What are you working on?" he asked.

Before she could answer, Colonel O'Neill stepped into the room, and she straightened. "Sir."

"Captain. Daniel, I was looking for you."

"And I was about to come looking for you as soon as I'd collected Doctor Carter."

Immediately, her face fell flat. " _Collected_?" she growled. It had only been a few days since they'd returned from the tribal planet where she'd been sold to a man who saw her as little more than a possession, and she'd been a bit touchy since.

"Oh, sorry," the doctor pressed. "I mean, I was about to-"

"What _is_ that?"

The tone of voice brought both of their gazes to the colonel. "Sir?"

"That," he answered, waving a hand at the whiteboards behind her. "What is that?"

"Oh. Well, see, when I first designed the iris, it was all based on a theoretical event horizon, and they installed it from those original designs because they wanted it done so quickly. But we've learned so much about the way the Gate demolecularizes and reintegrates matter since I was at the Pentagon that I figured a second pass at it could only improve the way it-"

Colonel O'Neill stopped her with a hand. "I'm sorry I asked."

Daniel caught the flash of hurt in her eyes and winced on her behalf. "He doesn't really like scientists," he offered.

"I know."

Uncomfortable, the younger man cleared his throat. "So, anyway, I was looking for you both because the new guys got done with their training today. And it's lunch time, so I thought maybe we could go play nice."

"Oh, right." One of the things Daniel liked most about his new teammate was her cheery disposition. Within seconds, she had apparently forgotten his faux pas - and Jack's; she set the marker on her lab table and crossed the room to join them. "How many teams are we up to now?"

"Nine. The last three teams will be here within the month," Colonel O'Neill answered. "And you go 'play nice' all you want. I have a reputation to uphold."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "A completely misbegotten one."

"Don't you tell people that!" he shot back, and Sam laughed, earning a curt, "you, either."

"Yes, sir. Come on, Doctor Jackson – I'll go with you."

"Call me Daniel, please."

Pleasantly surprised by that, she shot him a brilliant smile. "Okay, Daniel. Call me Sam."

"Call me Colonel," Jack added grouchily.

"I think I'll stick with 'Jack,' actually," Daniel smarted back. For some reason, his friend's gruff image was incredibly important to the man, even though – maybe even _because –_ he was such a softie on the inside. "And did someone not get their coffee this morning? Come to lunch with us."

"Busy."

"Jack."

"Daniel."

"Jack."

"If nothing else, Colonel, it'll give you a chance to set the right tone from day one," Carter suggested.

The older man mulled that over with obvious interest. "You think if I intimidate them now, they'll just leave me alone?"

"There's an _excellent_ possibility of that, sir." If she hadn't been assigned to his team, she would've run for the hills weeks ago. Probably.

"All right, then. I'm game. Campers." He swept out a gracious arm, allowing them to lead the way.


	3. Chapter 3

"Has anyone ever told you you eat like a bird?"

Captain Carter glanced at her tray, vacant but for a bowl of salad and a parfait cup of blue jello, then over to her commanding officer's heaping one – mashed potatoes, the mystery meat he must have gotten used to over the years, pie... the works. "Has anyone ever told _you_ that some birds eat up to their entire body weight in a day?" She let that sink in for half a second before prompting, hoping to catch him off guard, "Are you calling me fat, sir?"

That question had never failed to make a man stutter (and usually apologize), but he didn't take the bait. Adopting that same overly confident smile from their first run-in in the conference room, he let his eyes roam casually from the tips of her toes ever so slowly up to her eyes. "Oh, I would _never_."

She couldn't hold his gaze or control the tiny smile that tugged the corners of her lips at that. What the hell was wrong with her? She'd spent half her time around him fighting to prove that she could be his equal, yet one searing look from him could set her heart all a-flutter and make her knees just a little weak.

He was dangerous. Ex-Black Ops, a little jaded toward life, older than she was... not to mention tall, dark, and handsome. Exactly her type.

She fought hard to remind herself as he led the way through the cafeteria tables that her type had a history of not working out. She needed a new type. Badly.

The twelve newest members of the SGC – SG teams seven, eight, and nine – all sat together in the far corner. Sam could understand that; they'd spent three weeks in training together and had probably already bonded to some degree, whereas they knew almost no one on the base. Daniel's idea was seeming better and better by the minute for both their sakes – it would set the newbies at ease, and she could get a look at the fresh meat.

God, the colonel had her acting like some hormonal teenager. _Seriously, Carter, pull yourself together,_ she scolded, mentally giving herself a good, swift kick.

The colonel reached them first, and Daniel moved to her other side. "Fellas," Colonel O'Neill greeted. "Mind if we join you?"

All twelve looked up at his voice, the six nearest them swinging around in their chairs to get a look.

And one all-too-familiar pair of blue eyes shifted straight past him to level on her.

She wasn't even aware that the tray had slipped from her fingers until it clattered to the floor. The sound of shattering china broke her shock – or gave her an excuse, she wasn't sure which – and she dropped to her knees, gingerly collecting the pieces of her plate and putting them back on the tray with trembling fingers. She was well aware of the fourteen sets of eyes on the top of her head, but only one mattered. And she could _not_ look up.

An airman appeared with a hand broom all too soon and slid the still-intact tray away from the rest of the mess. "I've got it, ma'am."

"I'm sorry. I'm such a klutz," she breathed, her voice shaking more than she would have liked.

"Really, ma'am, it's okay," the airman insisted. "I've got it."

With a jerky nod, she got to her feet, keeping her head down until she'd managed to spin a complete one-eighty. She would not run, no, but her best power-walk carted her straight for the door.

"Sam?" Daniel called after her. "Sam, aren't you gonna eat?"

Ignoring him completely, she shoved her way out of the cafeteria and fled.


	4. Chapter 4

General Hammond glanced up at the sharp knock on his open door, unsurprised and a little chagrined to find a pair of big, hurt blue eyes just outside his office. "I've been meaning to find you."

"I think I beat you to the punch, sir," Captain Carter answered shakily.

"I take it you found out about Captain Hanson." He really had meant to tell her, to warn her... but he just hadn't been able to find the right words. And he hadn't wanted to see the hurt in her eyes when she'd heard what he had to say. As it turned out, this way was no better. "Close the door." As she did so, he added, "He'll be leading SG-9."

She whirled against the newly closed door. "Leading? He's only a captain!" He raised an eyebrow, and she added gingerly, "Sir."

The gut reaction came from hurt and surprise, he knew, and he let it go. "You and I both know he has more experience than his rank would dictate."

"That is exactly my point, sir! They knocked him back a rank for a reason," she insisted. "A good one."

"I was referring to his years as an enlisted man, actually." With a sigh, he leaned his elbows on the desk. "Captain, I understand your reluctance. But his record has been spotless since. He's passed a whole battery of psychological evaluations; he completed all the mandated classes. According to the Air Force, he's perfectly competent."

He watched her for a moment, how the confident woman it had taken her years to grow into had regressed in a matter of minutes. She slumped, eyes downcast as she faced what she knew was a losing battle, and he felt terrible. "I can order him to limit contact with you, if you want me to."

She shook her head without looking up. "That won't be necessary, sir. I won't take up any more of your time."

He stopped her halfway to the door. "Captain. Just because the Air Force has forgotten the past doesn't mean I have. Nothing's going to happen here; I promise."

"Thank you, sir."

"But you understand that all such personnel matters are confidential. Even if you happen to have first-hand knowledge."

He knew what he was asking of her – that she add just one more thing to the arsenal that separated her from her teammates. That she face this problem on her own. And when she met his eyes, he saw that she knew it, too.

"Yes, sir."

 

**~/~ ~/~**

 

The head of brown hair visible through the doorway brought Carter to a dead halt. How had Jonas found her lab so quickly? Even she still got lost in the mountain sometimes, and she'd been there for weeks. Then again, if she knew anything about Jonas, it was how he always got his way.

The toy bouncing easily from his hand didn't make her feel any better. It was only further proof that he had, in fact, totally lost his marbles.

She didn't really want to have this conversation on base, but she sure as hell didn't want to have it at home. Or anywhere, really, without a few hundred people on hand. Casting the guards over her shoulder a quick glance – if she left the door open, they could be there in seconds – she started into her lab.

And got as far as the door frame before she changed her mind.

Yeah. This was a bad idea.

They didn't actually need to talk, after all. There was no point, really, in _telling_ him to leave her alone; if she avoided him pointedly for long enough, he'd surely get the hint. Knowing Jonas, that could take months, but it was a big base. Running didn't make her chicken... It was just about taking the higher road, that was all.

Unfortunately, he sensed her presence and turned around before she had the chance to escape.

 _Very_ fortunately, paranoia had led her to jump to conclusions, and the tall, muscled man wasn't Jonas at all. "Captain," Colonel O'Neill greeted simply, the yo-yo snapping efficiently into his palm and staying there.

Surely she didn't look as much like a deer in the headlights as she felt. Surely. "Sir." Trying to look casual, she crossed to the lab table and picked up the dry-erase marker she'd left there earlier, pretending to glance once again at the calculations that seemed to be from a lifetime ago rather than that morning. "What can I help you with?"

"So you and Hanson have a past, huh?"

Well, he sure didn't beat around the bush. Shocked blue eyes flew up to his. "He told you that?"

"No."

That didn't make her feel any better. Her heart thudded painfully against her chest at the idea that this man – the man she so wanted to respect her – knew about her past. He had to have seen the file, and the thought of that was mortifying.

"I read people, Captain. And he was the only guy in the room who didn't look surprised by your... let's call it a hasty tactical retreat."

And odd mix of relief and embarrassment poured through her. He'd been guessing. "Oh."

Long, lean legs kicked up across her lab stool as he leaned much further back in the chair than was probably wise. "So I take it you two were..."

"Engaged."

She had already learned that the colonel was the king of micro-expressions, and so the tiny quirk of his eyebrow said clearly how surprised he was by that. "Ah. And I take it that ended..."

"Poorly," she supplied simply.

"Yeah." Abruptly, he swung his legs down and smoothly came to his feet. "Is this going to be a problem?"

"No, sir," she answered immediately. And then, "Probably not."

The eyebrow twitched again.

"I know that we'll probably be deployed together at some point, Colonel, and I'm prepared for that." More or less. She didn't really want to say more, but he had the power to give assignments that could make things very uncomfortable for her, and she had to at least ask. "I would just request – if it's at all possible – that he and I... not be left alone together."

She'd seen that stare before – the one that could knock back a Jaffa a few steps or size up a person in milliseconds – but it had never before been directed at her. It would have been incredibly sexy... if it weren't so damn unsettling. It was like his eyes could reach into her and forcibly remove her soul. She winced a little.

"Relationships go bad, Captain. Is that all this is, or is there something else I need to know?"

Oh, she wanted to tell him. Tell him everything. That Jonas was a nut who scared her more than a little; that nothing he said could be trusted. That, while she'd never been in the field with him, she wasn't entirely sure he could be counted on there, either. She wanted the colonel squarely on her side to hide behind, to protect her from this past evil that had suddenly reemerged, uninvited, into her life.

But even without the not-so-gentle reminder from General Hammond, she couldn't tell him any of that. She was Captain Sam Carter, and a man to fight her battles for her was the last thing she needed. If two years with Jonas Hanson had taught her anything, it had taught her that.

She forced a smile. "It's fine, sir."

She didn't think he bought it – not entirely, anyway – but he gave a curt nod. "Okay."


	5. Chapter 5

Sam Carter was getting old.

Had it been so long ago that she'd pulled all-nighter after all-nighter, sitting through the toughest classes the Academy had to offer by day, doing all the extra-curriculars she could get her hands on, and fitting homework in at lunch, breaks, and... all the time she probably should have been sleeping? Pushing through fatigue had come as easily to her as breathing. Once.

And yet the equations that had been so clear yesterday were nothing more than red scribbles today, swimming around, taunting her. She held the dry-erase marker at her side, open and drying out, and she just couldn't bring herself to care. All she could see were the imagined shapes in the plastered ceiling above her bed – the elephant, the rocking chair, the woman with an umbrella who looked like something out of a Seurat painting. She'd spent enough time staring up the night before to memorize them all.

"Sam."

Thankfully, the fatigue had dulled her senses enough to keep her from jumping at the voice. Slowly, she clipped the cap on the marker and turned to face him. "Hello, Jonas," she said softly, trying to keep her face neutral in spite of the sudden anxious pounding of her heart. She was cornered, stuck alone with the very man she'd been trying to avoid, and it made her chest ache and her hair stand on end.

"Hi. I, um..." He lifted an arm out toward her, and in his hand was a single stem, a purple, multi-budded flower that she didn't recognize. She stared at it, but didn't move to take it – if he thought for a second that a plant was going to get her back into bed with him, he was delusional.

Then again, if she thought she could let him back into her life and _not_ end up back in bed with him, so was she. Jonas Hanson always got what he wanted... especially from her. She swallowed hard.

"I'm not trying anything, Sam," he said, and while he stayed across the lab, he didn't drop the flower, either. "They told me this color is what you give someone when you want to apologize."

An apology? That was about a hundred and eighty degrees from what she'd expected, and the surprise almost made her forget her nerves completely. Setting the pen down, she took a few steps his direction – just far enough to take the flower. Oddly, it was silk.

"Well, I didn't figure you really wanted me walking around the base waving it around," he excused. "And a real one wouldn't have fared very well in my bag."

"No, I get it. Thank you." She smiled in spite of herself at the sweet gesture, realizing belatedly that it would only encourage him. Still, she couldn't quite manage to wipe the expression from her face.

"Uh, anyway," he said, clearing his throat, "I have a briefing to get to. And I know it's not what you deserve. But I just wanted you to have that, and to know... that I'm sorry."

He closed the distance toward her slowly, and though she knew she should back away, her feet were glued to the floor. How did he always manage to do that – become the gravitational center of everything? Tenderly, he took her free hand between his two larger ones, and she realized for the first time how much she'd missed that contact – being touched by him, held by him.

"I really am sorry, Sam," he said softly, intimately, his voice just barely registering above the pounding in her ears. "I'll see you around."

The complete lack of coordination traveled upward ridiculously quickly as he left, and she sagged against one of the banks of cabinets, eyes closed, the blossom still clutched in front of her as warmth surged through her chest. He was a player. She _knew_ that. He would just suck her in all over again, walk all over her like the best of doormats, and leave her hurt. She knew that.

But her body and her brain couldn't seem to agree on... anything. Not where Jonas was concerned. Every bad memory lost out to five or six good ones – their first amazing night together, their search high and low for the perfect house to rent for the two of them... the night he'd led her to the beach for a late-night walk only to find "Will You Marry Me?" scrawled in the wet sand. The way he'd kissed her there, holding her warm and safe in his arms as they murmured contentedly about spending the rest of their lives together.

"Captain Carter?"

She snapped to, yanking away from the wall as her eyes flew open. "Doctor... um, Daniel," she greeted uncomfortably, head spinning from being yanked so abruptly from the memories.

"Secret admirer?"

"What?" Glancing down, she realized she still held the purple bloom in her hand. "Oh. Uh, no," she stuttered. Secret, no, anyway. Admirer? She didn't know how to answer that.

He blinked. "Ah. You okay? You seem a little..."

"I'm fine." Uncomfortably, she let the hand with the flower fall to her side and inched it behind her back, silently willing her visitor to forget about it. "Something going on?"

"No. I just thought I'd drop by."

She cocked her head at him suspiciously.

"It's just that you... I mean, we don't, ah, know each other all that well, but you've been kind of on edge. I think."

She didn't really want to have this discussion, but she couldn't bring herself to chase him away. He was so... open. He cared. It was kind of sweet. "No, you're right," she admitted. "I just... Ever had the past come back to bite you in the ass?"

"Uh... I'm an archaeologist. I, ah, live in the past," he said.

"Oh. Right."

"So, this particular past is a person?" He gestured toward the tiny bit of purple that still stuck out from behind her leg.

She nodded.

"That's the hardest kind of past," he mused. "There are always different ways to look at an event, different sides. But people... it's not just about interpretation. People change. Sometimes when they reappear, the past can... change with them."

Unbidden, her hand brought the flower back up, and she stared down at it for a moment. He was sorry.

And there was a lot to be sorry for.

And there were other memories. Like how she'd worked so hard to find a watch like his grandfather's only for him to point out all the differences instead of even saying thank you. How they'd chosen the house together, but she'd single-handedly moved in all of their things after his emergency beeper had gone off and he'd disappeared, only for him to rearrange all the furniture when he got home. Without even talking to her about it.

The way the fight she'd started by moving the couch back a few feet had turned into a screaming match that could have brought the roof down.

How it had only escalated from there.

And why, that last day, she'd pulled her engagement ring out of the plastic bag they'd given her and put it on the table instead of back on her finger.

"Daniel... Have you ever noticed that the people who claim that the loudest – that people can change – are the people who need change most?" She sighed. "And the ones who are the least likely to ever do it."


	6. Chapter 6

Sam didn't know why she did it – why she dug the box out of that cramped space way, way in the back of the storage space off the closet. Why she pulled out the pictures of him, thumbing through image after image of them, happy, completely oblivious to everything except each other.

No, that was a lie. She did know.

It was because, for the first time... ever, the solitude was cloying. She'd always been popular, even though they moved around. It had never taken her long to make friends, and Mark's friends had always liked her, too. And she'd always been thin – and smart – so she'd never hurt for guys, either.

Until recently.

She hadn't had much time in Colorado Springs to do anything but work; still, she wasn't sure time would make much of a difference. Even if she _tried_ to make friends outside the mountain, it would be difficult – she couldn't tell them anything about herself. Sure, at the Pentagon, she'd had to keep secrets, but not about everything; working at the SGC, she had nothing to talk about at all.

And making friends inside the mountain hadn't been quite as easy as she'd hoped. Of course, she'd always struggled a little to fit in with the guys, but she'd usually found her niche. She hadn't counted on ending up in the strangest team known to mankind – a damn-near silent alien, an archaeologist who thought of guns like kryptonite, and... him. Colonel O'Neill. She could fall for him, if she let herself. But she couldn't do that, because he was her CO.

Which left her sitting alone on her couch, staring at photos of a relationship long blown up, wishing she had someone to call and talk to about it.

But the only relationship she'd even _sort of_ managed to hold onto – very, very loosely – was with her brother... and she couldn't call him. Mark had made his opinions on Jonas Hanson clear long ago, and she'd get nothing but a grumbled "I told you so" from him just before he hung up.

She made a mental note to have lunch with the new doctor they'd brought in – the one who'd checked her out after the knife fight with Turghan. Sure, she'd only spent a little time with her, but the woman seemed... strong. Sure of herself. And she stared down men much higher ranking than she was without fear.

That, Sam could respect. She wondered if Doctor Fraiser gave lessons.

 

**~/~ ~/~**

 

The idea of lunch with a friend – well, potential friend – went out the window when SG-4 stumbled back through the wormhole early that morning with horror stories of a massive panther-like creature that had nearly done all of them in. It made Sam forget to eat breakfast. And she hated forgetting breakfast, as it threw off her whole body clock.

Which was why she ended up in the commissary, stomach rumbling angrily, right at the end of the lunch rush. She tried _so_ hard to avoid the lines and the crowds, but her body wasn't giving her that option this time.

So she grabbed a tray and stepped into the line, carefully selecting her usual salad. On a whim, she reached for a piece of cake, thought of her waistline, and pulled her hand back.

The guy behind her in line jostled her a bit. She ignored it and moved forward with the queue, reaching for a parfait cup of jello. It was the last blue one, and it made her smile a little.

"Well, there's the look I've missed so much."

She did jump a little that time, glancing back to the man who'd bumped into her... apparently _not_ accidentally. "Jonas." How had she not noticed it was him? Immediately, her heart sped up, and she couldn't tell whether it was nerves or that insane draw she'd always felt near him.

"I've been trying to get your attention. Whatcha thinkin' about?" he asked, retrieving his plate from one of the cooks.

"It's hard to think about anything except how hungry I am at the moment," she answered honestly.

He grinned. "And yet you're still eating rabbit food."

"I like rabbit food."

They reached the end of the line and lifted their trays, both turning into the room. "Only one table left," he observed.

Yeah, that was a bad idea. "Oh. Well, I was going to head back to my lab, anyway," she insisted. "Have a good lunch."

"Sam." He shot her the puppy dog look he'd perfected – the one that had once turned her to mush. "Sit with me."

She hesitated.

"It's just lunch. Come on, we have a lot to catch up on."

Reluctantly, she followed him to the small table, but remained on her feet, holding her tray. "Jonas..."

Setting his own tray down, he reached into her space and put both hands on hers. "Sam. I'm not after anything. I just... I hoped, after all this time, that we could be friends again."

She wanted that, too, and she let him take the tray from her hands and put it down in front of her. He slid into a chair, and she followed suit. For a few moments, they ate in silence.

"So, is this what you were working on at the Pentagon? What you couldn't tell me about?"

"Yeah." It had been something of a sticking point with him – that she wouldn't talk about work. Neither would he, of course, but her side of the argument had somehow always fallen flat. She took another bite of her salad.

"I never imagined it was something like this. It's pretty amazing, Sam."

She smiled. "Yeah. I mean, I guess I kind of knew when I was in Washington... but after I stepped through it that first time... It is pretty incredible."

"And you made it all possible."

When she glanced up, he was smiling at her, warm, proud, and she melted a little. "Well, I didn't-"

"I've asked around, Sam. They all tell me you're invaluable here," he pressed, making her blush, an embarrassed smile spreading across her face.

"Yeah, well..."

"I was such an idiot," he said softly, giving her a sad, sappy grin. "I never really knew what I had, you know?"

Her heart broke a little for him. "I'm not that great a catch," she insisted.

"Of course not," he joked. "It's not like you're a looker or anything. Or smart. And it's the vanity that's really the kicker."

She laughed openly at that, trading her empty salad bowl for the jello. Unexpectedly, he reached across the table and caught the empty fingers of her left hand in his. "I know I hurt you, Sam. When I look back, I... I can't believe that was me. And I really am sorry."

"You said that yesterday," she reminded him with a gentle smile.

"I know. And I'm gonna keep saying it, because it's true." His hand abandoned hers in favor of her face, tenderly brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. "You deserved so much more than what I gave you. You trusted me, and I let you down. And I'm sorry."

A sigh escaped her as he took his hand back and continued eating. "It wasn't all your fault, Jonas."

It wasn't? She mentally kicked herself. Where the hell had that come from? Yes, it was!

Then again, she hadn't handled it all the best, either. She'd been far better at escalating things than cooling them off. And she hadn't given him distance, even when she'd known he was two degrees from the boiling point.

"Well, it wasn't yours," he answered softly. "I should have listened to you. I was lucky to have you as long as I did, and no matter what came of it, I don't regret that, Sam. But I won't blame you if you do."

The crack in her heart opened just a little wider. The next words from her mouth, she knew, held the power to break or help heal the man before her. "No," she murmured, settling a reassuring hand over his. "I don't regret you, Jonas. I just... wish things had turned out differently."

Turning his fingers up to curl around hers, he offered her a sad smile before returning, one-handed, to his meal. She, too, went back to her jello.

It wasn't long before they finished, Jonas heartily downing the rest of his food while she picked at her dessert. Then, as he always had, he picked up both trays and got to his feet. "Have a good day, Sam," he wished her, then carried the trays to the counter and left.

She watched him go, sadness creeping into her chest. All the time she'd blamed him, been so angry for what he'd done... she'd never considered that he'd lost as much as she had. More, if she were honest. And while he had his problems, he didn't deserve that, either. He wasn't a bad person, just...

"Patchin' things up?"

The voice she recognized; the question she didn't. "What?" she asked, looking up at her CO in surprise.

"You and Hanson. Playing nice."

"Oh. Uh, no," she said, pushing to her feet. "Just... trying to be friends." They should, right? They needed to be professional, and getting over all the old, nasty feelings would be a good start.

But Colonel O'Neill didn't look convinced. "Huh."

"Colonel?"

"Oh, nothing," he answered lightly. "I guess I just didn't know you could be so... _friendly_."

What was that supposed to mean? But before she could ask him, he followed Jonas' path from the cafeteria, the door swinging closed behind him.

Thoroughly confused, Sam headed back to her lab.


	7. Chapter 7

The next time he caught her was in the morning. Sam stood in the control room, carefully timing the iris as it slid open and closed. A zero-point-two second decrease wasn't much, but in battle, everything made a difference.

"You make that?" Jonas asked.

Sergeant Harriman glanced over his shoulder at the newcomer, then went back to his console. Sam, rapt in her work and still watching the Gate, said, "I helped."

"Helped?"

"The original design was mine, but it has its issues. We're trying to fix it."

He put a hand to her elbow. "I'm sure you'll figure it out."

"We're working on it," she answered with a smile, his touch having successfully distracted her. After two complete, fairly normal conversations with him, she was finding it easier and easier to talk to him. "What brings you up here?"

"Just finished a briefing. We head out in a little over an hour."

"Yeah? First trip through the Gate, huh?" She grinned, remembering full well her first, slightly less than graceful trip through on the wrong end of a shove from Colonel O'Neill.

"Yeah. Got any advice for me?"

She shot him a sideways glance, still smiling. "Be prepared for anything. There are things out there you can't possibly imagine."

"Oh, I've been briefed," he assured her. "And they tell me this one's routine. Should only be a few hours."

"Doesn't matter. Trust me, it's a little mind-boggling."

"Okay, so..." Jonas stepped sideways to allow Sergeant Harriman out of his chair to leave, and the movement put him behind her, watching the Gate run through the simulations over her shoulder. "Other than the obvious, any suggestions?"

"Yeah." She had forgotten how tall he was, she thought as she turned to face him, especially so close. It wasn't often that she really had to look up to a man – her team was tall, but they maintained a pretty big bubble of personal space. "Respect their cultures," she said softly. "But don't be afraid to show a little muscle if you need to."

He chuckled, that familiar, gorgeous smile spreading across his face as he stepped a little closer. "It's funny," he mused, "taking field advice from you. You've been in research as long as I've known you. I guess I never thought of you this way."

"I fought in the Gulf," she defended lightly. "You know that."

"Yeah," he shrugged. "But that was before I knew you. You always seemed too... classy... for this kind of stuff. Too beautiful."

She blushed, unable to meet his eyes. "Thanks. I think."

Only when Sergeant Harriman returned, his eyes just a little wide, did she realize how compromising their positions were – Jonas far too close, Sam pressed backward up against the control panel. She cleared her throat a little, but he didn't step back until Walter said, "Captain Carter."

"Yes?"

"General Hammond would like to see you in his office. ASAP."

Quickly, she threaded her way out of the other captain's personal space and headed for the steps. "Thank you, Sergeant."

It was just a short trip up the steps and across the briefing room to the general's door. She wasn't surprised to find it open, and she tapped on it lightly as she stuck her head inside. "Sir? You wanted to see me?"

"Close the door, Captain."

Was that a growl? Had General Hammond just... _growled_ at her? Why was everyone acting so strange? Startled, she did as she was told.

He circled the desk as she turned back around, his attitude far more confrontational than she thought she'd ever seen. "What are you playing at, Captain?" he demanded.

"Sir?" she asked, uncertain.

"Do you know what the definition of insanity is?" he pressed angrily.

She had a vague idea, but she could only manage, "I... uh..."

"Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result."

"Yes, sir."

"Stick your hand in the tiger's cage, Captain, and you're gonna get bit," he drawled.

What? "General, I really don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you? Stay away from Jonas Hanson."

That did it – she'd been confused before, but she was goodly and truly dumbstruck.

Noting the shock on her face, his own expression cooled a bit. "Do you really not see it?"

"I just thought... He apologized, General. And I just thought if we could put it all behind us..."

"That you could what?" he asked, gently this time. "Try again? That things would be different? Captain-"

"No!" she interrupted. "Honestly, sir, we're just trying to be friends again. So we can work together."

The look on his face said pretty clearly that he thought she was nuts. Still, he rounded his desk and sank down behind it, his elbows on the desk. "Consider who we're talking about here."

She sighed. "Look, I know I was a bit... rattled... when he arrived. And yes, things ended badly. But that wasn't entirely his fault."

"Do you know what you're saying? Do you hear yourself?"

"Yes, sir. But respectfully, people much more qualified than both of us think he's pulled it together. Maybe they're right. And if he's finally got his life back on track, sir, I want to do everything I can to help him."

It was his turn to sigh. "Captain, it's not my job to dictate your personal life. But when I told you I could protect you, I didn't expect you to go running headlong back to him. I'm not going to make it an order – I can't. But as your friend, your elder, I'm advising you: make sure the message he's getting is the one you mean to send."

She bit her lip. "Yes, sir."


	8. Chapter 8

_November, 1993_

Sam used her key (the idea of which made her feel a little giddy every time) to let herself into his apartment, stopping just inside the door to hang up her jacket and purse. Jonas was even more of a neat freak than she was. He must have been on the phone – she could hear him – and light shone from the kitchenette, so she headed that way.

"How much?"

Her fantastically gorgeous boyfriend sat slumped at the small table, the phone to his ear. His somber expression and the half-empty glass of amber liquid in front of him was testament to the fact that it wasn't a pretty conversation. "Fine. No, it's fine. I'll just wire it to you."

Sam stepped into the door frame and just inside his line of vision, not wanting to interrupt, but wanting him to know she was there. He held up a finger with a grim smile. "No," he growled into the phone, "I don't think you do. You're not going to like what happens if I come down there. You can go pick it up first thing tomorrow morning."

The person on the other end of the line clearly pushed the issue, because he shot back, "The hell I will! He got himself into this mess; he can sit there. It wouldn't be the first time." Slamming the phone down, he drained the rest of the whiskey in one gulp and rested his head in his palm.

"Don?" Sam asked softly. Though she had to give him credit for raising a good man, Jonas' step-father had been nothing but trouble for as long as she could remember.

"He's in jail again."

"For what?" Before he could answer, she added, "No, on second thought, I don't want to know."

"Wise beyond your years," he drawled. "Sheryl doesn't have the money to bail him out."

She cringed. The situation was pretty messed up as it was – Jonas and Don's new wife didn't get along all that well anyway, and it was only compounded by the fact that none of them were actually related. Sam had thought she'd had it rough, growing up with only one parent, but Jonas had been kicked over and over again and left to deal with a "family" that was maybe more trouble than it was worth. "How much?"

"Three grand."

"Ouch."

"Yeah." Shoving the chair back from the table, he looked her over for a minute. "Come here."

Offering him a wry smile, she crossed the tiny kitchen and let him pull her into his lap. "It'll be okay," she offered softly.

He shrugged. "I've got my hazardous duty pay saved up."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know. Managing his life just gets old. I've been doing it for two decades."

"He's lucky to have you," Sam pressed, running a finger softly along his cheek.

"Yeah, well." Wrapping his arms more firmly around her, he pressed a tender kiss to her lips. "And speaking of lucky..."

She couldn't help but smile. "Aww, you think you're lucky to have me, huh?"

"Actually, I was thinking more in terms of _getting_ that way."

Yanking back, she smacked him hard in the chest. But he was grinning, so she figured he didn't mean it the way it sounded. Still, she chided lightly, "You are such an ass!"

He chuckled and settled her a little closer on his lap. "Yup, that's me." Quickly sobering, he added, "You're the only real family I have."

Softly kissing his temple, she pressed her cheek to his. "I suppose I could say the same." Mark had kind of drifted away, and her father... well, she was done letting him try to run her career. And her life. Lord knew he didn't like Jonas a bit.

"You keep me sane," he murmured into her ear.

"Well, that's good. You're crazy enough as it is," she joked gently. "I'd hate to see what would happen if you really lost it."

"I guess you're stuck with me, then."

She smiled against his skin. "Somehow I don't think that's going to be a problem."

"Good." Pivoting a little in his chair, he shifted his weight and swung to his feet, easily lifting her in the process. "What are the odds you pity me enough to make me want to feel better?"

"You have a one-track mind," she accused gently.

"Uh-huh. But you do want me to be happy, right?"

She groaned – only half-playful. "Yes."

"Excellent."


	9. Chapter 9

_August, 1997_

Sleep was really getting hard to come by. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since Sam's heart-to-heart with the general, and she'd done nothing but think about it since. She hadn't given Jonas the wrong idea, had she? She'd only been trying to be nice.

Maybe... maybe Colonel O'Neill had seen the same thing as General Hammond. That would explain their odd little exchange in the cafeteria, if the colonel thought she was trying to resurrect her old relationship. And while the whole situation made her a little ill, the idea of that – that the colonel thoughtso – was really, really upsetting. And she wasn't sure why.

But she couldn't deny that her feelings for Jonas were still there. They'd never gone away, really; they'd just been easy to ignore beneath the simmering anger and hurt. And without those...

She loved him. She couldn't help it. And more, she felt sorry for him. No one could deny that he'd had it rough in life, and the Air Force hadn't helped – his Black Ops days had just added stress. She'd seen it. It had driven him to the brink of insanity and damn near pushed him over.

Whether she liked it or not, there was a soft spot in her heart a mile wide with his name on it. If anybody deserved a break in life, it was Jonas.

"Hey, beautiful."

Speak of the devil. "Jonas," she greeted softly, steeling herself. She didn't agree with the general's assessment of the situation, but his advice was sound. She would tell him. She would make it clear that no matter how misguided their emotions might be, their relationship had to be professional.

But she turned around to face him, and the soft blue eyes threw her for a loop. She looked away.

"So, yesterday was spectacular," he told her, stepping up to rest his forearms on the end of her lab table. "I wanted to tell you about it when we got back, but they said you'd already gone home."

She nodded. "I'm still kind of settling in."

"Yeah? Got a nice place?"

That was a pretty personal question, and considering she constantly found herself comparing it to the house they'd had, she changed the subject. "I like it. How was... Where'd you go, again?"

"P3X-771," he offered with a smile, and if he caught her misdirection, he gave no sign of it. "Lots of trees."

"Seems to be the theme. Not as many deserts as we'd thought."

"A lot more people than we thought, though," he mused.

"Oh? I thought that planet was uninhabited."

"So did we. They're going to send SG-7 through to... study them... or whatever those guys do."

Sam winced a little – the typical soldier, Jonas put culture last. "You know, we can learn a lot from these people. Don't dismiss them."

"I know, I know. But that's really more your field than mine, huh?"

She nodded.

He straightened a little, palms flat on the table, and announced, "So... Sam..."

"Jonas." Now was the time. She could do this. "I need to talk to you about something."

"What a coincidence," he said. "I need to talk to _you_ about something."

"Yeah?" The words had been on the tip of her tongue, but she completely chickened out. What if he took it wrong? She really didn't mean to hurt him – she just needed to make sure they were on the same page – but she knew it would sting, and she just couldn't work up the courage. Clearing her throat uncomfortably, she offered, "You first."

He shook his head, rounding the lab table. "Not here. Someplace... more private. Come to dinner with me."

The invitation hit her like a bat. So General Hammond had been right, after all. It had been four days, two hours, ten minutes since she'd seen him for the first time in the mess hall, and that was how long it had taken the other shoe to drop.

She sighed. "Jonas..."

Tender fingers brushed a piece of hair from her forehead, and she leaned into his hand instinctively precious seconds before her brain could tell her what a horrible, horrible idea that was. "Sam, I'm not the person I was then. When you left, I... That was the last straw. The thing that finally got through, Sam. I've pulled my life back together, and the only thing that's missing... is you."

God, she wanted his strength of will, his charm. He always had been able to say just the right thing to make her melt.

But she couldn't. Not again. Though the breath she took in was shakier than she'd have liked, she pushed from her chair and stepped out of his reach. Unfortunately, that was the extent of her show of will, and she couldn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"All I'm asking for is a second chance. Please."

"I know what you're asking for, Jonas, and I don't think I can give it to you." It had taken her almost a year to find herself again, everything she'd lost when she'd been with him, and it could only happen again. He would turn her back into that woman – the one she didn't recognize – and Captain Sam Carter, confident scientist extraordinaire, would disappear.

But he rounded the lab table, once again encroaching on her personal space, and her will faltered. They both knew she was losing ground. "You'll never know unless you try," he beseeched softly.

"Please," she whispered. "Jonas, I can't. I can't do that again."

"Baby. Sam. I still love you."

How could he twist everything so easily? She wanted to tell him to get lost, that she'd moved on, that she deserved better than he could give her, but her mouth couldn't form the words. She just couldn't hurt him like that. And his body was so warm as he stepped closer, pinning her against the cabinet – a wrenching reminder of a hundred nights that he'd held her in his arms, worshiping her like royalty.

"Let me show you I've changed," he murmured into her ear. "Give me a chance to treat you like you deserve to be treated. Like a queen. One dinner. That's all I'm asking for."

"Jonas," she breathed, trying desperately to figure out whether the next word out of her mouth was going to end up being yes or no.

A sharp rap on the door saved her from finding out. Her head shot up, gaze searching over his shoulder to lock onto Colonel O'Neill's face, his eyes leveled sharply on them. Jonas straightened, but didn't release her from the trap against the cabinet. "Colonel," he greeted coolly.

"Captain," the colonel responded in a voice no less chilly before his line of sight shifted to her. "Everything okay in here?"

"Everything's just fine, sir."

But Colonel O'Neill didn't even glance Jonas' way at his words; his eyes stayed locked on hers. She had asked him not to leave the two of them alone together, and he was apparently taking that charge seriously. Two points for the colonel.

And suddenly, staring into those deep brown eyes, she remembered not only where she was and why, but who. The officer that Colonel O'Neill knew. The person she so badly wanted him to respect. Sam Carter, the woman who had challenged her CO to arm wrestle in their very first briefing. The soldier who'd taken down a misogynistic tribal leader in hand-to-hand combat. The scientist with a doctorate and two masters degrees who'd risen to the top of her field in no time flat. She _liked_ that woman. And she had zero intention of giving her up.

"It's fine, sir," she told him. "Captain Hanson was just leaving."

Her ex tensed, eyes flicking to hers in surprise, but he just said, "Of course. Mission prep, you know."

The colonel gave him a single, gruff nod in response.

"We'll talk later," Jonas promised, backing toward the door.

Sam sucked in a deep breath. Somehow, with Colonel O'Neill standing there, this was a thousand times easier. "No."

The look of abject shock he gave her shouldn't have come as such a surprise – in the years she'd known him, she couldn't remember ever _once_ contradicting him and really meaning it. Not like she'd just done. "No?" he echoed in disbelief, his voice gaining a cold edge.

"No. Jonas, we're done."

She wasn't sure what to expect at that, but a smile certainly wasn't on the list. "You don't mean that," he murmured soothingly, and it wasn't the first time he'd spoken to her like an irrational child – not by a long shot.

In the doorway, Colonel O'Neill took one solid step into the room, still watching her intently. He wouldn't intervene, she knew. But he was more than ready to.

"Actually, I do," she pressed. "I'm not interested, Jonas. Leave me alone."

Did the colonel see the shadow that passed across her former lover's eyes, too? Or did she just know him that well?

"You'll change your mind," he growled, and before she could contradict him again, he brushed past her and took the other door.

Sam stared after him for a moment, well aware of what he was capable of when life didn't go his way. But she could feel her CO's gaze on her, and she slowly turned back to meet his eyes. "Thank you, sir."

He shrugged. "I didn't do a thing."

She shot him a small, grateful smile. He had no idea.

 

**~/~ ~/~**

 

Sam went home that night feeling like a complete fool.

He'd done it again.

He'd stepped into her life and made himself out to be the victim. The sad one. He'd convinced her that he could change, that he wasn't the man she couldn't help but remember. He'd spooled her along like a true professional, saying the perfect words until she'd fallen for it all.

But any sense of security he'd lulled her into was gone now. It had been since he'd walked out of her lab earlier that day.

Maybe he thought he'd hidden it – the ice in his gaze as she told him it was over – but she knew that look well. And that Jonas Hanson, the one who wore that look, was a very, very dangerous man.

On the entry table, her cordless phone rang, and she took the opportunity to check the front deadbolt on her way there. For the second time that week, she was well and truly bunkered in her own house, set off from the rest of the world.

The display on the phone glowed in the darkness.

_Unknown caller_.

Crap.

She ought to answer it, she knew – it could be the base, or her teammates. She didn't quite have all their numbers in her phone yet, and it could be important.

But she wouldn't put it past him to get his hands on her personal number. He could be... persuasive. To a fault.

Well, if it was important, they'd leave a message. She hit the "reject" button, silencing the ringer and sending the call to voice mail as she wandered to her kitchen to make dinner, setting the phone absently on the kitchen island. But she ventured through the fridge, freezer, and all the cabinets, and absolutely nothing looked appetizing.

She felt like crap. Really. How had he done it to her _again_? She was better than this! Stronger.

Wasn't she?

Only when the phone rang again did she realize that the first caller hadn't left a message. She was quicker that time, jabbing at the button to silence it before the first ring had even finished.

No, she really wasn't hungry. And she doubted she would be any time soon. Retreating to her living room, she yanked the blinds closed and curled up tightly on the couch, pulling the blanket over her folded-up knees.

The next time it rang, she couldn't quite convince herself to move. She stared at it, angry, unsettled, as it rattled its way across the coffee table. Somewhere around the fifth ring, it shook itself past its own center of gravity and tumbled to the carpet.

She didn't pick it up, didn't bother. Pulling the blanket tightly around herself, she ran for her bedroom and slammed the door.


	10. Chapter 10

"So, Teal'c's been helping me with the translations of the artifacts that SG-4 brought back from P2X-991, and it's going well," Daniel said, sipping his coffee, trying really hard not to look too carefully at the way the odd man he considered his best friend was shoveling something unidentifiable into his mouth. It was... disturbing. "He's really trying to be helpful," the archaeologist pressed. "I mean, I know if it were any of us, the whole thing with Colonel Kennedy would have been really hurtful, but with the way the Jaffa move around, you know."

Abruptly, Jack stopped, his fork mid-shovel through the mound of mashed potatoes. Had Daniel actually caught his attention? "Well, see," he went on, "when one System Lord defeats another, they take over all their ships and armies, right? So changing allegiances is actually fairly routine for them." He watched as the colonel's eyes slowly shifted, sliding past Daniel's face and over his shoulder. "So what I'm saying is that he probably understands, right? Better than we do. That it's hard to trust people."

Still, Jack didn't speak, his gaze glued to something else entirely.

"Jack? You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?"

When he didn't answer, Daniel slowly turned, following his friend's line of sight. "Oh."

Captain Hanson stood in line, slowly pushing his tray along.

"He's not what I expected for her."

For the first time that lunch, Jack's eyes actually met his. "What?"

"He's not what I expected," Daniel repeated. "Older. But he seems nice."

"Hmph." Clearly, the other man didn't agree.

"Something wrong with him?" Daniel asked.

The line of sight moved away again. "Yeah. Something."

"Care to expand on that?"

Jack returned to his food and didn't answer. In fact, Daniel suspected that it was an excuse not to.

He wasn't blind – he'd seen the way his friend and team leader looked at Sam. The way he'd been just a little _too_ upset that Turghan had gotten his hands on her. The panic in his face when she'd been slumped in the elevator after Major Kawalsky's little stunt. Was he... jealous?

And so, as was his bent when it came to Jack, he pushed the issue. "He certainly knows how to dote on a woman. The flowers he sent her were really something."

The speed at which Jack's eyes flew up told him he was dead on. The look in them, though, wasn't jealousy. Not exactly. "Today?" the colonel asked. "He sent them... today?"

"Yeah." Okay, something was definitely up. "Jack? What's going on?"

The fork clanked back to his tray and Jack pushed it away a little, clearly no longer interested in lunch. He stared down at it a long time before he spoke. "I have a cousin," he said softly, finally. "Married a guy like that. Flowers, presents, fancy dinners, all that crap."

He blinked. "Some women actually _like_ that, Jack."

"Yeah? They like getting smacked around, too?"

Daniel's jaw dropped. "You think... No. No, I don't think so."

Jack raised an eyebrow.

"She doesn't strike me as an abused woman, Jack. That's not Sam."

"Yeah? How do you know?" he challenged. "What do you really know about her?"

"Well... I don't... I mean..."

"She's been here what, Daniel? Six weeks? With this weird, super-feminist chip on her shoulder. Ever thought about where she got that?"

He suspected it was from spending years in the military with men who stared at her like... well, like Jack and Captain Hanson did, but he couldn't be sure. "Okay, but even so, she broke it off, right? So he's not doing it anymore. If he ever was."

Jack chugged the rest of his iced tea and set the glass on his tray, then scooped up his silverware and napkins and put them there, too, before getting to his feet. "The thing that gets me about Marcia," he said, "isn't that he hit her the first time. Or the second. It's that she's left him a thousand times. And she always goes back."

 

**~/~ ~/~**

 

This was awkward. And far, far outside the scope of his job. But Carter was young, innocent – well, as far as he knew – and he felt obligated. Not to interfere, just... to keep an eye out.

Tentatively, he knocked on the door frame.

"Colonel," she answered immediately, getting to her feet.

He waved her off. "Captain."

She watched him for a moment as he glanced around her lab. "Can I help you with something, sir?"

There they were, a massive cluster of deep red roses. Daniel was right – they were impressive. And they were in the trash can. "Nice flowers," he commented.

"Uh, yeah," she mumbled, her jaw tense. "I guess. For flowers."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. She didn't look particularly happy. "Not a big fan of roses?"

"Not a big fan of symbolism."

"Ah. Me, neither," he answered lightly. "Almost failed sophomore English for that one."

She nodded. "I like to think that things are what they are. Subtext is overrated."

"Symbolism and subtext aren't the same," he observed.

"True. Maybe I just lump them together because I've never been particularly good at either."

"Hmm." Well, that would be a shame, because Jack wasn't so great at being straightforward. He had no doubt that she could learn – she was the smartest woman he knew – but that might take a little more time than he had at present. "Captain," he proffered, "you know you can come to me, right?"

Her head whipped up so fast that he couldn't believe she didn't give herself whiplash. "Excuse me?"

"If there's a problem. There are channels for this."

She wasn't nearly as bad at subtext as she thought she was, apparently; her eyes flickered to the flowers and back. "Thank you, sir," she said stiffly, "but it's nothing I can't handle."

"O... kay."

Anything he might have been about to say was cut off by the ringer on her lab phone – which was good, because he had no idea what to say next or how to give himself a graceful exit. He waved her toward it.

Giving him a brief nod, she turned her back to him to grab the phone. "Carter," she announced.

It couldn't have been more than half a second before she slammed the receiver back into the cradle.

Jack watched her for a moment, shoulders tense, head down, and finally figured out what he needed to do. By the time she turned around, he was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

As was the norm when the Gate was active, most everyone on the lower levels was either in the Control Room or the Gate Room itself, leaving the Briefing Room empty. Except for one.

Jack wasn't surprised to find her there, staring down from behind the safety of the glass. And though he knew exactly what he would see, he stepped up beside his teammate, watching SG-9 retrieve their weapons and finish checking the gear on the F.R.E.D. they were taking with them.

Not looking at her, he ventured, "So... P3X..."

"293, sir."

"Right. And the caves SG-3 found, they thought they might still have some of that, uh..."

"Naquadah."

"Yeah, that."

Ordinarily, she would've jumped straight into extolling the virtues of the stuff, Jack knew, but she was silent. He figured that went to state of mind, really, but her face in the reflection of the glass was carefully neutral. Was she not happy to see him go? It hadn't taken him long to know that Hanson wasn't good for her – the way he'd backed her into a corner and didn't seem to understand the word 'no' – but relationships were messy, and true love didn't always have a lot to do with it. He knew that well.

"Y'know, they think there are miles and miles of tunnels on that planet. Exploring them could take months."

The tiniest of smiles quirked at the far corner of her lips, a move so small he nearly missed it in the shadowy mirror image. "I know."

So she _was_ happy about it. That was a good sign.

She turned her head to look at him, but all he gave her was a profile, quickly diverting his eyes back to the Gate so she wouldn't know he'd been watching her. "And I don't believe for a second, Colonel, that SG-9 was chosen at random."

It was his turn to smirk a little. "I don't know what you're talking about, Captain."

It hadn't been his decision – he didn't make those calls. But he had gone to the base commander with a concern: namely, that an officer under his command was being harassed. He'd been pretty surprised at the strength of Hammond's reaction to that, actually. Unless his gut was wrong (and it rarely was), Carter and Hammond had a past, too.

But he'd dug far enough into his second's personal life for one week, so he'd let it go. _After_ suggesting that this mission was the perfect opportunity to get rid of a certain troublesome officer for an indeterminate amount of time.

Below them, the Gate burst into life, and her gaze returned to the team at the foot of the ramp. When he glanced at her reflection again, she wore a full-fledged grin.


	12. Chapter 12

Daniel stepped through the door of Sam's lab to find her once again rapt in her calculations. She stood at her lab table, her weight heavy on her elbows as she stared at the collection of whiteboards on the other side of it. "Made any progress?" he asked.

She glanced up at him with a smile but did not, he noticed, jump in surprise. Her nerves were one of the many things that seemed to have calmed in the two weeks since SG-9 had been deployed. "I've cut another point-two seconds off the dialing sequence. It's not much, but-"

"It adds up," he finished for her.

"Yeah. And it's only been a few weeks, so I'm fairly confident that with more time, I can cut it down much more."

"I'm sure you can." As of yet, there didn't seem to be anything she _couldn't_ do. The comment earned him a brilliant grin before she turned back to her calculations, and he watched her for a moment, smiling as she worked. "You seem much happier," he commented idly.

Okay, that was maybe the wrong thing to say. Her sideways glance was dark. "Happier than... what?"

"Well, than you were. Before. I mean... when Captain Hanson was here. You know, 'cause you and he... uh..." He finally trailed into silence, pinned in her icy glare. "I'll shut up now."

"That would be a good idea."

"Right. I just meant... that it's good to see you happy again," he finished weakly.

She arched a brow at him. "I'm... annoyed and touched, all at once, Doctor Jackson."

He cringed. "Ouch. We're back to titles again, huh? Maybe I really ought to head to the infirmary to get the FMS looked at, after all."

"Excuse me?"

"Foot-in-mouth syndrome," he supplied. "I've, uh, been told my case is quite serious."

Well, at least that earned him the smile, even if it was a little sad. "It's not so bad. It's nothing worse than what everyone else has been saying."

"Yeah?" He couldn't help but feel bad for her – he'd heard some of the speculation himself. From Jack, of all people. He slid onto one of the lab stools. "Wanna talk about it?"

She considered that for a moment and apparently decided she did, because she perched on one of the stools beside him. "You know what the worst thing is about being a woman in the military?"

"Uh..." He could only imagine. "Knowing that every man in the room is staring at your legs when you wear your dress blues?"

She sighed. "They're not all staring at my _legs_ , Daniel, though they're certainly not looking at my face, either. But I'm used to that."

"Then I have no idea," he shrugged.

"It's being defined by the men around you. More, by which ones you have and have not slept with. And I really thought this place would be different, you know, a clean start, but now... Now I'm nothing more than Jonas Hanson's poor ex-fiancée. Again."

"Really? That's funny," Daniel said, "because I still think of you as Doctor Samantha Carter, the world's leading expert on wormhole theory."

A tiny, crooked smile crossed her face. "You do?"

"I do. We all have skeletons in our pasts, Sam. That's why man invented closets."

The words had no more than left his mouth before he realized his mistake and prayed she wouldn't catch it. Of course, he wasn't that lucky. "Really?" she challenged. " _Man_? And here I thought _woman_ invented closets to store all of her high heels and lingerie and froofy princess dresses."

"Right." He slid off the stool with a grimace. "Off I go to the infirmary, then, to get that foot surgically removed."

He was almost out the door when she called softly, "Daniel?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

He blinked. "For what?"

She chewed on her lip for a moment and shrugged. "Giving a damn."

"Jack would tell you that's one of my worst qualities," he quipped, pulling the door shut behind him.


	13. Chapter 13

_June, 1994_

Sam stepped into her apartment and let her laptop bag slide gracelessly to the floor. Yes, it was amazing to be able to port a computer back and forth, as only so much data could fit on a floppy drive, but the thing was heavy, and hefting it around the Pentagon was taxing. Slipping off her jacket, she rolled her shoulders a few times as she headed for her dark bedroom.

She turned toward the closet and stopped, her face spreading into a broad grin. "Hey!"

Jonas sat on his pillow, still in uniform, leaning against the headboard. Long legs kicked out across the bed, his boots lying toppled-over on the carpet. "Where the hell have you been?" he asked softly.

There was no anger in his voice, but the words caught her off guard. "Uh... at work," she stuttered.

"At work," he echoed flatly. "It's oh-two hundred."

It was? "I guess I let time get away from me. But I... I didn't know you were back from deployment. If I'd known you were going to be here, I would've come home."

He didn't answer, just continued to stare at her. There was something menacing about it, his eyes dark in only the streetlight, and it made her uncomfortable. "What?" she asked finally, still clutching her jacket.

"If you'd known I was here?" he asked finally. "So this is routine? When I'm deployed, you stay out until all hours of the night? But only when I don't know about it."

"What's that supposed to mean, exactly?" she asked, a tiny knot beginning to form in the bottom of her stomach.

"You were at work. Doing what?"

"You know I can't tell you that."

Smoothly, he rolled to his feet and crossed the room, getting well into her space. "And I'm just supposed to buy that?" he demanded. "That this... this... _science_ has you working all hours, but only when I happen to be deployed? That you _choose_ to work all night at your nine-to-five job?"

"I never said it was nine to five," she protested, reeling from his sudden rage.

"It certainly is when I'm here! You telling me you set your own hours now, _Lieutenant_?"

Shaking her head to clear it, Sam forced herself to take both a mental and physical step back. "Why do you care?" she asked, flummoxed. "What does it matter if I work long hours while you're away? What, you think I should get paid more? You know it doesn't work like that, Jonas."

"Oh, no, I know that. Life doesn't work like that."

"Then what are you getting at? I don't understand why you're mad at me!" she insisted.

"Because you're _lying_ to me!" he roared, and Sam nearly tripped as she backpedaled, earning only a few feet of distance before she hit the wall. Maybe it was the way the light splayed shadows across his eyes, but there was a darkness there – something deep – that she'd never seen before. For the first time, he was Major Jonas Hanson, Special Tactics... and she was afraid.

He must have seen it, must have realized how close he was to crossing that line, because a slightly shaky hand scrubbed across his face. When he spoke again, his voice was low. "Look, I get it, okay? I'm deployed a lot. But you're military – I thought you would understand. I didn't think I had to worry about you while I was gone, but you... And you're still wearing your ring," he whispered sadly.

"I never take it off," she insisted, her voice just as soft as his. "Why would I?"

It was his turn to back away, dragging his feet until his calves hit the bed and he slumped onto it, his face in his hands. "Just give me a name."

"A what? Who? Jonas, I don't understand."

"I just want his name," he mumbled through his fingers. "Just tell me who you're screwing around with when I'm not here."

Instantly, her blood ran cold. He thought she was cheating on him? "How... how can you think that? What the hell kind of person do you think I am?" she demanded, shock quickly turning to rage.

"What am I supposed to think?" he shot back. "It's two in the morning! You're out all night; I don't know where you are..."

"I _never_ know where you are!" she cried. "And you work nights – weeks – all the time, but I don't think _you're_ cheating!"

"I'm halfway around the world. With my unit. Doing my job," he growled.

"And I'm doing mine!"

He shook his head. "How do you expect me to buy that? You do paperwork, for Pete's sake."

"What I do is important," she spat.

"Yeah? Then tell me what the hell it is."

She sucked in a breath. "Is that what this is about? Again? I don't know what you do, either."

"Oh, yes, you do," he grunted.

"Yeah? Where were you this time?" she pressed. "Somalia? Panama? Iraq?"

As always, with the tables turned, he deflated. "I don't want to argue about this," he sighed.

"Jonas, I don't want to argue at all! But I don't appreciate you accusing me of being unfaithful to you!"

The hand ran through his hair this time, making it stand up, unkempt. "What am I supposed to think?" he asked softly. "I leave my fiancee – drop-dead gorgeous, smart... everything – and she's... she's staying out late, keeping secrets about where she is..."

"I'm not keeping secrets," she protested.

"And let's face it, Sam, I'm not that great a catch."

She wanted to stay mad at him, but looking at him – slumped shoulders, creased forehead – the indignant streak faded. He seemed so... dejected. Lost. Like the thought of losing her might actually make him crumple. "Jonas..."

"I wouldn't blame you." His voice was pained. "I've never known what you saw in me, anyway."

That sharp pain in her chest could only be her heart breaking for him. After all this time, it was still so hard for him to believe that things could go right in his life. Kneeling at his feet, she gently pried his hands away from his face and gasped at his wet cheeks. "Jonas, I love you," she whispered.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he shook his head.

"I do," she insisted through tears of her own. "Please. You have to know that."

Slowly, he slid off the bed, landing on his knees in front of her and wrapping her in an impossibly tight embrace. "I love you so much," he breathed into her neck, his voice choked with tears. "I just can't handle it. The thought of you with someone else – it drives me crazy."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"No more late nights. Please, Sam. It makes me think-"

"Okay. Okay, I promise."

"I just... when I don't know where you are, I worry. What if something happened to you, or, or..."

She nodded against his neck, pulling him closer. "No more late nights," she echoed. "I'll be here. I swear."

"I love you," he managed, shoulders shaking as he sobbed gently into her shoulder.

"Shhh. It's okay. I love you, too."


	14. Chapter 14

_August, 1997_

Sam knew it had been a bad day when she woke up in the infirmary, her head and stomach throbbing. Trying to sit up proved to be a bad plan, but she managed to turn her head and find Doctor Fraiser hovering over another bed. "Doctor?"

The petite woman looked over and smiled at her. "Welcome back, Captain. It's nice to see so many normal people around again."

"I don't... um..."

"You were infected with the same disease as SG-3, Captain, from the planet of the Touched," she explained. "We found a cure, but it was pretty heavy duty stuff, so I had to wait a little longer to give it to you due to your stomach injury."

"Stomach injury?" Sam's fingers automatically searched the area and found a large lump – gauze, most likely.

"Yep," the doctor answered with a wicked grin. "Your roommate got a little bitchy and shanked you. It was very _Prison Girls Gone Wild_."

"Yeah? Make sure you tell me her name so I can scratch her eyes out later," Sam kidded, trying once again to roll to sitting.

She expected the other woman to protest; instead, she helped. "Doctor Jackson went back to the planet to collect blood samples for a cure, but he was taken by the Touched. The rescue mission is in two hours – it's taking a bit of time to parse out the doses. If you're up to it, Colonel O'Neill requested you."

Colonel O'Neill. Images flashed before her eyes unbidden – a cut-off tank top, no bra... grabbing him... "Holy Hannah," she gasped.

Fraiser immediately caught her chin to look in her eyes. "What? Pain?"

"No. No, I just, um, remembered..."

"Jumping your CO's bones in the locker room?" she asked dryly.

Sam shrank a little. "Oh, God. That really happened?" She was attracted to the man, sure, but she'd never intended to actually do anything about it. Her cover was _completely_ blown. Crap.

"Don't worry, Captain," Fraiser said, as if reading her mind. "I told him that you were crazy and that primitive women always went after the man in charge, so you're off the hook. Oh, and because he'll never tell you this – then he beat up Doctor Jackson out of jealousy. Over you."

He had? Well, that was kind of heartwarming, actually.

Wait a second... "Is Daniel okay?"

"Just a busted lip," she confirmed. "Let's just say it's been an interesting few days down here. And that I have enough blackmail on some people to last _years_."

Sam swallowed hard. This was bad. Very bad. Very, very-

"I'm kidding," the doctor pressed.

"Oh. Good."

"Lighten up, Captain. Disaster has once again been averted. I'll have one of the nurses come check you out."

"Hey, uh, Doctor?" Sam asked to keep the other woman from leaving. She hadn't planned on actually getting injured and ending up in the infirmary to ask, but since she was here...

"Yes?"

God, this was hard. When had she become a complete and total social misfit? "We should, um, do lunch sometime. Just us girls."

The other woman smiled. "Sure."

 

**~/~ ~/~**

 

Sam imagined there was a lot of apologizing going on at the SGC that week, and she'd spent the whole rescue mission planning hers. She'd... assaulted the man, and that deserved something, right?

And yet, she couldn't help but remember that Colonel O'Neill hadn't actually rejected her. He'd done the honorable thing, sure, in dragging her to the infirmary, but when she thought about it...

" _Don't you want me?"_

" _Well, no, not like this..."_

She'd spent hours thinking about that, and she could only take it to mean that there was some other way in which he _did_ want her. It just didn't involve physical pain and a cut-off tank top with no bra in a semi-public place. Under alien influence.

Oh, she was never going to be able to watch his six again, knowing that, for fear that she might actually get caught _watching_ his _six_.

She silently thanked God that Jonas was on another planet, because he had a jealous streak a mile wide. Had he been on Earth, the colonel's fight with Daniel likely would have been a fight with Jonas, instead, and the injuries would have been far more severe on both sides.

"Uh, sir?" she asked as they headed back toward the Gate, having decided that she was too embarrassed/horny/teenage-girl-with-crush to have this conversation in anything but a semi-public place.

"Yeah?"

"About my earlier behavior?" she said. "I wasn't really myself; I-"

"Oh, Carter, I don't even remember your earlier behavior," he answered offhandedly.

"You don't?"

"No. I was infected too, remember?"

"Right! Good, I... I'm glad." Well, that was good. No, that was great. She could remember – the way his lips felt on hers, his hips pressed into hers; not that any of it was good for her sanity, just her fantasies – and _not_ be completely mortified. That was perfect, actually.

"By the way, how's the wound?" he went on casually.

"Wound?" Had he actually hurt her? She didn't remember that part.

"I understand you got stabbed in the stomach, or some-"

"Oh, yeah, that." Her animalistic chick fight – right. "That was nothing. With any luck, there won't even be a scar."

"Well, good. I was concerned."

Finally, she was starting to see that warm side of his – the one Daniel had sworn up and down existed. There was a sweet man in there, and it made her smile. "You were?"

"Sure!" he insisted. "If it doesn't heal properly, you'll never wear that sweet little tank top number again."

Shocked, she trailed to a halt, letting the procession slowly pass her by. So he did remember. Crap. So much for being sweet on the inside.

She stared after him for a moment; he walked with more than his usual swagger, and she knew it was for her benefit. And boy, was it nice to look at.

And then, suddenly, it occurred to her that she'd been wrong about something. "Not like this" had clearly not been referring to the braless tank top combo. With a grin, she hurried after her team, wondering if there was any way she could get that shirt back (discreetly) from her new friend on the medical staff.


	15. Chapter 15

It took four sets of three knocks each before Daniel decided that no, Teal'c really wasn't going to answer the door, and not because he just plain didn't want to (like Jack would) but because he wasn't actually there. Disappointed, he resettled the stack of file folders he held and headed back for the elevators.

"Daniel."

The archaeologist slowed at his friend's voice to let Jack catch up. "Morning," he greeted.

"Stayed here last night?" the colonel asked. "I thought you just got a fancy apartment." He eyed the stack of files in Daniel's arms but didn't offer to help carry them. Jack, he'd noticed, drew a very solid line between 'my job' and 'not my job.'

"No, I was just trying to track down Teal'c," he explained, shuffling the weight of the paper as they walked. "I've got more translation stuff for him from Giza."

"Ah." Was it his imagination, or did Jack start walking a little faster?

"I mean, I know that stuff is thousands of years old, but it's the same Goa'ulds still around, right? So any information we can get could be useful."

Yeah, he was definitely walking faster, leaving Daniel struggling to keep up as they neared the corner. The archaeologist was well aware that his friend didn't really want to hear it – didn't care – but it was damned important. "It could have tactical value, Jack. I mean it! Seriously, this is the kind of stuff that can tell us what's out-"

A body barreled around the corner at almost a run, catching his shoulder and sending the files flying. Daniel, too, lost his balance, and only Jack's hand on his arm kept him upright.

The body didn't stop, tearing down the corridor past two sergeants and an SF before disappearing around the corner. The archaeologist could only stare after the small hurricane, dumbstruck. "Was that...?"

"Carter," Jack said dryly.

"Huh. Was she...?"

"Yup."

Daniel wasn't convinced that she'd been all-out crying, but she'd been pretty close. Either way, that sort of one-upped his translations. The sergeants had already begun restacking his papers, and he gathered them quickly into a stack. He could reorganize later. Tucking the stack beneath one arm, he pointed down the corridor from which she'd come and asked, "What's down there?"

"The gym," Sergeant Hawes answered.

Jack's expression said pretty clearly that he didn't really want to get involved – or at least that he was pretty uncomfortable with crying women – but Daniel stared him down. She was their teammate, and they had a responsibility to her, no matter what. Finally, with a sigh, the colonel tilted his head toward the gym and started that way.

Daniel had never been in the base gym – it was smaller than he expected, but packed with people. Most were young and enlisted, he noticed, but not all; several officers from SG-2 and SG-3 were there. Ferretti seemed to be the highest-ranking man there, leaning against a weight rack.

He couldn't help but notice that there were _only_ men there.

In the center of the group stood Teal'c on a mat, squaring off against Johnson of SG-3. Whether it was a challenge for Johnson's transgressions during the briefing about the Touched or some weird sort of macho-man apology for it, Daniel couldn't tell.

"Colonel!" a young man exclaimed, and the entire motley crew spun to look at the two intruders. They looked... guilty. Obscenely so. Except for Teal'c, who looked the same way he always did.

"All right," Jack growled, "somebody spill it."

Ferretti pushed off the weight rack and crossed his arms. "Just doin' some training, sir. Teal'c was showing us his Jaffa takedown techniques."

The look Jack gave him pretty clearly said that the man was a fool if he thought that had been the question. "Was Carter in here?"

More than a dozen sets of eyes abruptly hit the floor.

"Indeed," Teal'c volunteered.

Jack scrubbed a hand through the hair at the back of his neck for a moment. "Everybody out," he announced finally. "Except Teal'c and Ferretti."

Daniel had never seen a room clear so fast, and he suspected they were running from impending doom in the form of one Colonel Jack O'Neill. "Seriously," the older man announced once the room was empty, "why was Carter upset?"

"I didn't do it," Ferretti claimed immediately, pointing at Teal'c with both hands.

The Jaffa just looked confused. "I did not injure her."

"Okay," Daniel put in. "Umm... just tell us what happened."

"Lieutenant Weiss requested a sparring session with me. When he could take no more, Sergeant Beckett took his place. I defeated many of your men, O'Neill," Teal'c said, his disappointment clear.

"And Carter?" Jack asked. "You beat her, too?"

"I did not."

Daniel blinked, taken aback. "You let her win?"

"No. I did not fight Doctor Carter," he explained.

The other two members of SG-1 exchanged a confused look before Jack turned on Ferretti. "'Splain, Lucy."

"She asked for a turn," he shrugged, "and Teal'c here told her no."

"Uh... why?" Daniel asked.

"All female Jaffa are trained to fight in order to defend their homes in the event of an attack," Teal'c explained. "However, their training is conducted privately. No Jaffa would strike a woman except in battle."

The archaeologist pinched his nose. "And you told her that? In front of everyone?" No wonder she was so upset.

"Indeed."

With a sigh, Daniel turned to Jack. "You wanna take this, or should I?"

It was a long time before the older man said, "Teal'c. Buddy. Let's get some breakfast, huh? You and I need to have a little chat."


	16. Chapter 16

The crisp rap on her lab door made Sam sigh. She'd made it almost the whole day – well, really, she _had_ made it the whole day, considering it was nineteen hundred hours – without having to deal with anyone. Except Daniel, but that conversation had been short. It was entirely possible that he was just a little bit scared of her, and she was starting to think she liked it that way.

The knock sounded again. Damn, she should have left two hours ago with everybody else. "Come in," she called, annoyed.

Janet Fraiser opened the door and stepped just inside, pulling it tightly closed behind her. "So, I just heard something," she said conspiratorially, "and I wanted to ask if it was true."

"Oh, my God!" Sam exclaimed, wishing she could just sink through the floor and die. "The rumor mill here travels faster than the speed of light, I swear." Wasn't it bad enough that everyone in the gym had heard him say it? And that all the people she'd passed on the way back to her lab had seen her upset? She'd known word would travel, but sheesh!

The doctor raised a surprised eyebrow and said nothing.

Whoops. Feeling more than a little like an idiot, Sam ventured, "You didn't know."

"No, but I'm suddenly extremely curious."

"Yeah, I'll bet," she muttered. "At least that means the _whole_ base didn't know by noon."

Janet made a sympathetic noise. "Speaking of noon... lunch... I was thinking. All that's waiting for me at home is a bag of stale popcorn that should have gotten left in my last apartment. How about dinner, instead?"

Having already dug herself a pretty deep hole and not looking forward to the questions she'd set herself up for, Sam scrambled for a reason to say no... and came up empty. There was nothing at her place, either. "Uh... I hear there's a great pub downtown."

 

**~/~ ~/~**

 

As it turned out, 'great' was a bit of an overstatement. O'Malley's was a pub, all right, with the requisite pool tables and old, smoky scent. But there didn't seem to be anyone from Cheyenne Mountain there – apparently, it hadn't caught on yet – and that was a plus. The two officers sat at a tall table a bit away from the horde of smokers, although the distance didn't help much.

"He said that to you? Really? Just... out and said it?" Janet asked in disbelief.

"In front of everyone." Sam downed a good bit of her rum and diet Coke. "It was humiliating. I mean, I've dealt with it before – the looks, the off-handed comments – but it's... I don't know, it's different somehow. He's not even one of us, you know? He's some total stranger who just walked in and passed judgment, and I..." With a sigh, she took another long sip. "I don't even know why I care, but I do."

The other woman considered that for a moment. "Well, if that's how he feels, I'll just keep that in mind next time he's in the infirmary."

"Why?" Sam asked, confused.

"Did you know that needles come in different gauges? Vaccinations are normally given with a twenty-three, twenty-four, or twenty-five gauge – somewhere around half a millimeter. Needles used for blood donation are more like a millimeter and a half, and you can feel the difference, right?"

Sam nodded, uncertain and uneasy about where the conversation was headed.

"I can order needles all the way up to four and a half millimeters thick. How do you think he'd like _that_?"

"You... wouldn't," the captain protested, but she wasn't entirely sure.

"Use a seven-gauge? No, that's just cruel," the doctor admitted with a grin. "I'm just saying that there's a certain percentage of professional leeway, that's all."

Wow, the woman had guts. "I'm not sure how I feel about that," Sam admitted, "but I think I'm a little afraid of you now."

"Nah. I only use it on people who really deserve it. War criminals, chauvinists, guys who persistently ask me out," she added gleefully.

Men, Sam couldn't help but notice. All men.

"It's one of my favorite parts of the job," Janet said. "That and outranking every man in the room when it comes to my area of expertise."

The captain stared at the smaller woman for a moment – smaller, but gutsier. Brash, even. And maybe a little crazy, but with more self-confidence than Sam could even comprehend. But she seemed to carry the same us-versus-them mentality that men like Teal'c did and an odd mentality toward rank. "Can I ask a moderately offensive question?"

"Sure."

"Why the hell did you join the military?"

Janet shrugged. "I want to serve my country, even if I don't like the violence or the testosterone. And they paid for medical school. And the Air Force had a pretty good track record of keeping spouses stationed together."

"Spou..." Sam nearly choked on her drink. "You're married?"

"I was at the time."

"Oh. I'm... sorry." A broken-off engagement had been bad enough, but divorce was a trauma she couldn't even contemplate.

"Oh, don't be," Janet reassured her. "He was one of those chauvinistic, testosterone-driven guys that I would have used big needles on. In hindsight, we were completely incompatible."

Sam didn't quite know what to say, so she settled for a nod.

"And speaking of incompatible," the doctor went on, "that's what I was coming to ask you about before. So. You and Captain Hanson? Really?"

"Uh, yeah." Clearing her throat uncomfortably, Sam motioned for the waitress. This was about to get painful – somehow, this woman seemed to be able to drag out all the things she desperately didn't want to talk about. "Could I get a Zombie, please?"

"Well, if we're going for sheer alcohol content, I'll have a Long Island," Janet chipped in. Once the waitress disappeared, she ventured, "Yeah, I figured it didn't turn out well between you two."

Sam narrowed her eyes, a little hurt. "What does that mean, exactly?"

"Just that you seem pretty straight-laced, while Hanson looks like trouble from a hundred yards away."

"I'll have you know I own a motorcycle," Sam – who'd never thought of herself as particularly conventional – defended, then added petulantly, "and your vision is apparently better than mine."

Janet gave her a wry smile. "It improved dramatically after my divorce."

"Is that what it takes?" Sam huffed. "Dragging it through the courts, making it ugly for both of us? And here I thought it got ugly enough as it was."

"Can't have been pleasant, having him show up like that," the doctor observed. "Unless, of course, you're one of those people that keeps in touch with their exes and everything is all happy-cheery. Personally, I prefer never to see them again."

Generally, yes, Sam tried to do the former rather than the latter, but her attempts with Jonas had failed miserably. "I think it would have been better that way," she said softly, "if our paths had never crossed."

"Rumor has it he's trying to get you back." Janet gratefully accepted her drink from the waitress and took a sip. Sam, on the other hand, swirled hers a little on the table and stared into it. "I'll take that silence as a yes," she observed gently. "How do _you_ feel about it?"

The table-swirling motion ceased, but only for Sam to grab the decorative straw and start stirring that way, slowly mixing in the Bacardi floating on top. "I... have no idea how to answer that question," she admitted finally. "I can't figure it out myself." She could feel the other woman's eyes on her, and she kept her gaze down.

"Sam," the doctor began, then added quickly, "I can call you Sam, right?"

Her smile was more than a little twisted. "Considering we're sitting in a bar talking about our exes, you probably should."

"Good. Sam. Do you smell that?"

"Uh..." Grateful as she was for the change of topic, it left her more than a little befuddled. Sam wrinkled her nose. "I don't smell anything but old wood varnish and cigarette smoke."

"That's what I meant. I take it you never smoked?" Janet asked.

"Oh, hell, no. My father walked in right as Tony Creighton handed me my first one in junior high, and that was the end of that."

The doctor grinned. "I did. I started in high school – to piss off my parents, mostly. And then college was stressful, and my marriage, and medical school... so all in all, it was more than a decade before I quit."

"I have to say," Sam ventured, "that I've always found doctors who smoke to be something of a contradiction in terms. It's... the ultimate unhealthy habit."

"Actually, some would argue that riding motorcycles is far more dangerous," she pointed out. "But I agree with you. There are a lot of us, though, even though we know how bad it is for us. And I could feel it – the strain on my lungs, my compromised immune system. At one point I even calculated exactly how much money I'd spent on cigarettes, and it was a little bit staggering. But I was addicted, and quitting was one of the hardest things I've ever done."

Uncertain what the other woman's point was or what to say, Sam settled for, "Well, I'm glad you did."

"I haven't had a cigarette in over five years," she went on, "and all those reasons still apply – the cost, my health. The social stigma, yellow teeth... a million other things. But when I smell it – a smoky bar, a couple of Airmen standing in the parking lot – I want one. My body just craves it, even though my mind knows better."

"Is that your not-so-subtle hint that we should leave?"

"No. You're missing the point. Sometimes reason gets no say in how we feel. They talk about people who have addictive personalities, but really, we all do. Everyone – _everyone –_ has a drug," she pressed. "Even you."

She meant Jonas, Sam realized, and in a way, it was a soothing thought. It _did_ seem like an addiction – wanting him even though she knew better – and that made excusable. And not her fault.

Didn't it?

"I don't know what I'm going to do when he comes back," she admitted softly. "I don't want to have to avoid him, and... and have it be awkward, and everything, but..."

"But dealing with him is a little like juggling flaming bowling pins?"

"Yeah. And I'm a really bad juggler."

Janet took a long sip of her drink. "It's not going to get any easier as long as you have feelings for him."

"I know, but I... It's not like there's an off switch, you know? I don't want to feel this way – I know everything about him is wrong for me, but when I see him, I just... I can't help it. I told him to stay away, but I know he won't. And if he keeps pushing, I... I don't know what I'll do."

"Then for your sake," the doctor said gently, "I hope SG-9's mission is a long one."


	17. Chapter 17

_September, 1994_

Strong fingers gripped Sam's thighs as Jonas drove her backward, stopping only when his shins hit the mattress. He followed her down, eliciting a moan as his teeth caught the tender flesh behind her ear and nipped at it a little harder than he probably should have.

"So tell me," he murmured, his breath hot in her ear, "where is this little surprise you promised me?"

Grinning wickedly, she tugged his shirt free and started on his belt. "Where do you think?"

"Mmm, I think I'm going to like this one." He caught her lips as a hand snaked between them, popping the buttons of her uniform shirt one by one until he could pull it open.

"Good?" Sam asked as he kissed his way down her throat to get a close look at the newest addition to her wardrobe. His lips traced the line down one shoulder and across the line of lace, pausing to lathe attention on the spot in the deep vee.

She must have misheard him – must have – because she would swear what he murmured against her skin was, "Next time, get the red one."

"What?"

He paused just long enough to glance up at her. "You look good in red."

"I... um..." Did that mean she didn't look good in teal?

"It's not really your color."

She stiffened, a pang of hurt settling in her stomach. "Oh."

Oblivious, Jonas continued his southerly path, and she cringed inwardly at the thought that he was about to find the rest of the set. "Relax, baby," he murmured into her stomach as his fingers toyed with the button on her jeans. "Next time you'll do better."

The breath she sucked in was shaky. "Yeah."

 

**~/~ ~/~**

 

_August, 1997_

Sam really wanted a nail file. Yes, she knew that made her girly, and yes, it would probably just aggravate all of her _other_ problems with the men around her, but she had a tear in her nail and absolutely nothing else to do but stare at it. Damn, she was bored.

The colonel passed her by for the thousand and third time in his pacing – counting them for real would have been a good use of time if she'd started at the beginning – and this time, she just had to say something. "I think I'm starting to agree with you, sir."

He slowed to a halt and glanced down to where she sat. "'Bout what?"

"Remember when I seconded Daniel that we should use the Gate for cultural study?" she asked.

He cast a long, slow look over his shoulder at their archaeologist, snapping photos and making sketches of the fallen-down city around him alongside the four members of SG-7. "Yeah?"

"I was wrong."

That crooked grin she loved so much crossed his face. "Bored, Captain?"

"Immensely, sir," she pressed.

"What about the science part?" He squatted next to her, and she briefly considered ceding the tree trunk she was leaning against to her CO who was, after all, older.

She decided not to. "I'm holding firm on that one."

"Well, I suppose that's fair. Since you are a scientist, and all," he shrugged.

"So you noticed," she chuckled.

He slowly stretched out, sitting to remove the pressure on his knees. "Well... I just figure all those words you spout that I don't understand are either science or Latin, so..."

Grinning, she just shook her head.

They sat together in silence for a moment before he said, "At least it's pretty."

"At least it's _pretty_?" she echoed. Had he really just said that?

He shrugged. "Well... it is."

She refrained from telling him how ridiculously un-manly that was, but only because he outranked her. And because he had a point – it was a cute planet. The ruins had been overgrown by red and purple wildflowers that spread past the outer walls of the old city and over the hills as far as the eye could see.

Several yards away, Daniel's notebook hit the ground with a thump. "Teal'c! Do you know what this symbol means?"

No one answered him, and Sam didn't particularly care. Daniel, unfortunately, did. "Teal'c!" he called, spinning around to find the man. "Teal'c? Jack, where's Teal'c?"

"He'll be back," the colonel answered evasively.

Sam began to pick at her broken fingernail. She, personally, was glad the alien wasn't around. His stoic, self-righteous face pissed her off.

"You gonna be mad at him forever?" the man beside her asked.

For humiliating her in front of two dozen of her coworkers? Yes, probably. "I don't know what you're talking about, sir."

It didn't come across as particularly convincing. Even to her.

"You know," he said slowly, "you women are still a mystery to me, and I've had lots of practice. Teal'c-"

"Is much older than you are, sir. And I'd rather not discuss it." It was bad enough that she'd been _that_ close to tears when she'd run into them in the corridor; she was not about to spill her guts about all her insecurities to her CO. But really – had the big, dumb alien not been watching when she'd taken down Turghan in that knife fight? Hadn't she proven herself already?

"Okay." He pushed to his feet and glanced down at her, but something past the tree/backrest seemed to catch his eye, and he grinned. "You just stay mad, then. Try it. I dare you."

Before she could ask him what that was supposed to mean, he headed quickly for the ruins. Sam wasn't about to give up her comfy spot, though her rear was starting to fall asleep, and she went back to picking at the errant fingernail.

It wasn't long before someone else's feet crushed the flowers in front of her, and the massive shadow he cast could only come from one man. Er, alien. Sighing, she intentionally didn't look up.

"Doctor Carter."

Damn. "Can I help you with something, Teal'c?" she asked coolly, still staring at her hands. She almost added something along the lines of 'though I can't imagine what help a lowly female could possibly be to a big, burly man like you' but decided that was a little on the bitter side. The fact that he repeatedly referred to her with her civilian title rather than her military one did not escape her notice.

"On Chulak, when a woman has been publicly wronged, she is customarily given jewelry braided from the entrails of a Teshanian lamb in apology," he said.

Oh, this conversation could not end well. She shrank into the tree a little.

"However, Daniel Jackson informed me that such a gift would likely not be well-received. Moreover, it would be most difficult to procure one."

Thank God for small favors.

"I have collected what I believe to be the culturally acceptable alternative," he offered.

Unfortunately, an alien probably wouldn't understand the significance of Sam putting her fingers in her ears and chanting "la, la, la," so avoidance was kind of out. Besides, it was like the fabled train wreck – while she knew she desperately didn't want to see whatever it was, she just had to look. The curiosity was overwhelming.

Wincing hard in horror, one eye closed, she looked up.

She'd had every intention of staying pissed off; really, she had. But while he had gotten one thing right – yes, flowers were an acceptable gift – he hadn't quite gotten down the details. Like type. Or number. Or method of packaging.

No, the Jaffa's massive arms were filled with hundreds, _thousands_ , of the tiny wildflowers, heaped and tangled with each other. And the effort he'd taken in collecting them was obvious – his uniform was covered in loose petals and tiny stem pieces, and one large smear of pink across his cheek had to be pollen but looked disturbingly like blush.

She couldn't help it. She laughed. Hard.

He stared at her for a moment, his expression growing increasingly uncomfortable, before he asked, "Is this not the appropriate expression of contrition?"

"It... is," she answered slowly. "Kind of. Sit down."

Obediently, immediately, as if he thought it was a required part of the apology process, he sat.

"You can put those down."

"Am I not to give them to you?" he asked.

She glanced down at her still-pristine black t-shirt and said, "Generally speaking, yes. Today... you can just put them down. Really."

His massive arms opened, letting the blossoms fall into a heap in front of him. Still chuckling, Sam leaned forward, picking leaves and stray petals from his shirt for a moment before smearing away the pollen on his face. "It was a nice gesture, Teal'c."

"It was not my intent to offend you, Doctor Carter," he explained softly. "My actions were born from many generations of doctrine. Such is the way of the Jaffa."

Daniel had tried that argument too – cultural differences – and Sam distinctly remembered telling him that Teal'c's culture could kiss her little Suffragette ass. But he looked like a little lost child sitting there, not entirely certain what he'd done wrong (and covered in tiny green and purple pieces) that she just couldn't bring herself to be spiteful about it. "Do you really think that about me? That I can't fight just because I'm a woman?"

The silence stretched long enough that she seriously considered picking up a handful of the stems and shoving them down his throat before he said, "I once stood secure in my beliefs – in the teachings of my father and those before him. Now... I no longer know what to think about many things."

The two deep, earnest brown eyes that stared back at her made it damn near impossible to work up the same indignance that she'd used on Daniel. Hurt as she'd been, prejudice was something she had _some_ experience with, at least. Teal'c had left all of his norms behind to join a battle that was his, certainly, but with a culture that was not. And the learning curve from that, she supposed, was pretty steep. "Apology accepted," she said softly.

He bowed his head slightly. "I fear that this is not the last time the ways of the Jaffa will cause dissent among the Tau'ri."

"No, probably not," she admitted. "But I suppose I can try to be more understanding."

"As shall I," he pledged solemnly.

The distinct feeling of being watched made her hair stand up a bit; she glanced over her shoulder to find Colonel O'Neill and Daniel Jackson observing them intently. What did they expect – that they would _actually_ kiss and make up? Somehow she doubted Teal'c would even understand the phrase.

"Doctor Carter," the Jaffa went on, "in the future, if my words or actions cause you distress, I would wish you to tell me so that I may correct the problem."

"I don't want to be coddled because I'm a girl, Teal'c."

"Nor do I wish to alienate my fellow soldiers because my customs are..."

"Alien?" she offered with a grin.

He narrowed his eyes at her the tiniest bit, but said simply, "Indeed."

And so, hours later, as they trooped back through the Gate, Sam felt for the first time like she'd truly found her place. She and Daniel had found a groove of sorts, a way of making their sciences mesh; she and Teal'c were... working on it. And the colonel... Well, he'd proven himself a far more respectable man than she'd ever imagined, which only made her strive harder to prove herself. He inspired an incredible amount of loyalty from the people he served with.

And, of course, he was pretty damn attractive. It was more than she'd ever thought to ask for in a CO.

Her contentment as she walked down the ramp, however, quickly soured at the look on General Hammond's face. He hovered just off the end of the ramp, his expression and posture tense. "SG-1," he greeted tightly. "The briefing room. Now."


	18. Chapter 18

A firm tug on her arm pulled Sam off course just inside the blast doors, rerouting her to a quiet corner. Sure enough, the man on the other end of the arm was Colonel O'Neill. "You wanna tell me what that was all about?" he asked softly, clearly not wanting his words to carry to the guards... or the other two members of SG-1.

"I don't know what you're talking about, sir." That was a lie, but she'd hoped to at least get through the gate before he harangued her about it.

"In the briefing. When I asked if there was anything else I needed to know about SG-9 going missing, Hammond looked straight at you and then told me everything I might need was 'at my disposal.' What the hell does that mean?"

It meant, mostly, that as much loyalty as she felt toward General Hammond, she really, really wanted to punch the old coot for putting her squarely between a rock named Jack O'Neill and a hard place named Jonas Hanson. "I suppose it means, sir," she said slowly as the dialing sequence began, "that he believes my history with Captain Hanson might come in handy."

"You think Hanson is the problem here?"

"I don't know." General Hammond clearly thought so – the way he'd looked at her had said as much. She hoped not.

"I don't like walking through that gate without all the relevant information, Captain," he growled. "So spill it."

But the fact that Hammond hadn't told them himself was proof that he didn't think the rest of SG-1 needed to know – yet – so her orders stood. "I'm sorry, sir, but until I have reason to believe that the past may be relevant here, I can't slander another officer."

He was clearly about to leap down her throat for that, but the gate opened with a whoosh, cutting him off. "The second it _becomes_ relevant," he pressed instead, "intel better come spouting out of you like suds from an overloaded dishwasher. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

 

**~/~ ~/~**

 

Lieutenant Connor looked like hell, and Sam wished she could justify the pang of concern she felt as just one officer for another, but it wasn't that simple. If one member of SG-9 was injured, the others likely were, as well. Where was Jonas? Was he hurt? Dead?

She couldn't deny the bit of relief she felt at that thought, and she loathed herself for it. Turning back to Connor, she helped him gently lean back against her leg.

"All right, Connor, what's going on?" Colonel O'Neill demanded. "Command received your signal six hours ago and no one came through. Why?"

"Hanson," the young man answered simply.

What was that supposed to mean? Unwilling to even suggest that he might be gone forever, Sam started, "Where is he? We need to talk to-"

"No!" His response was vehement. "Don't."

"Why?" the colonel prodded.

The lieutenant seemed to consider that for a moment before his eyes flew wide and he shoved away from her, pushing unsteadily to his feet. "Frakes. He..."

SG-1 was close at his heels as he ran, following a wide path away from the gate. They crowded behind him as he fell to his knees around a small pile of ash. And bone, Sam realized, bile rising in her throat. Human bone.

"Connor," Colonel O'Neill said gently as the young man pulled his teammate's dog tags from the ashes. "Connor, I need to know what happened."

"Permission to speak freely about a superior officer, sir," the lieutenant said, and the roiling of Sam's stomach doubled.

The pause was long enough for her to seriously wonder what her CO was thinking before he said, "Yeah. Go ahead."

"He's lost it. He's out of control."

"Captain Hanson?" Sam asked, willing him to say no with all her might.

"Maybe it was the sun, you know, the radiation," the young man went on.

"Wait," Daniel spoke up, "are you saying the sun did this to Frakes?"

"No, sir. Captain Hanson did that to Frakes."

"What?" Surely he didn't mean that the way it sounded, she thought. Jonas had... had pissed off some warlord who'd taken it out on the team, or... or accidentally set off some dangerous piece of technology, or...

"For trying to get back through the gate."

Well, that sure made it sound intentional. Her chest clenched. "I don't buy that," Colonel O'Neill shot back.

"Sir," the lieutenant insisted, "we were trying to warn command about what's really going on. The people here – they believe he's their god!"

"Because you came through the Stargate," Teal'c spoke up.

"No, no, you don't get it," Connor groaned. "Hanson believes it, too."

Praying that her dread wasn't obvious to the four men around her, she swallowed hard. Though she could feel the colonel's eyes boring into the side of her head, she didn't look up until he said, "Carter?"

She followed him a bit away from the others. It was difficult to meet his gaze, but luckily, he didn't seem to want that any more than she did. His eyes bobbled between her and the leaves beneath their feet. "I want you to take Connor back through the Stargate and report to General Hammond what's happened here," he said softly.

He was giving her an out, a chance to avoid something they both knew could only turn out badly, and as much as she appreciated that... "No, sir."

"No, sir?" he parroted, his gaze finally locking on her.

"If you're going after Captain Hanson, I should go with you. I can get to him." It was why the general, out of eleven other teams, had sent SG-1. She was certain of it.

"Look, _Captain_ ," the colonel snapped, obviously unhappy about having his kind gesture (and his orders) refused. "Either we're bringing him back to face a court martial or not. And I think we both know what the 'not' means."

"I know him, Colonel," she pressed.

"Yeah, that would be the problem, wouldn't it?" he shot back.

"I gave back the ring _because_ I know him. I know how he thinks, how he operates-"

"How he likes to play God?"

She winced a little at the implication. "Look, I don't understand how that could happen any more than you do, but if SG-1 is going after him, then I am going with you."

Sam Carter had to be the world's foremost expert on Jonas Hanson – had to be. And, in large part, it was her mess to clean up. She opened her mouth to explain, but Lieutenant Connor leaped to his feet. "Wait a minute, you – no, you can't do that!" he stuttered. "There are hundreds, probably thousands of them. He – he's their god. They'll die for him. They'll kill for him in a heartbeat."

"That's not your problem," Colonel O'Neill growled at the young man. "Now, I need someone to report back to the general, and that is _you_."

"No, sir."

"No, sir?" The colonel shot Sam an annoyed glance, and she couldn't blame him – she'd started it. "Does it say 'colonel' _anywhere_ on my uniform?"

"I know the planet, the situation," the lieutenant went on. "I think it's suicide, but if you're going, I'm going, sir."

"But you are not physically able," Teal'c spoke up.

The lieutenant shrugged. "Frakes was my friend."

"This isn't about revenge," Sam insisted.

"Maybe not for you." Brushing past her, Connor headed a bit further from the gate. "We've got to move now, in the daylight."

She stared at him for a long moment. Cleaning up this mess meant getting Jonas home, not killing him, and she wasn't at all convinced Connor would accept that. She glanced at her CO, hoping he'd see the other man as the vulnerability he was and send him back through the Stargate, but he just said, "Well... We're off to see the wizard."

 

**~/~ ~/~**

 

If Colonel O'Neill thought she'd forgotten their conversation in the Gate Room, he was wrong. And so Sam wasn't entirely surprised when he took her arm and held her back from the group, letting Connor and Teal'c take a long lead, Daniel just behind them. "Suds from a dishwasher, Captain," Colonel O'Neill reminded her, his soft voice making it clear that this conversation was only for them. "Go."

She sucked in a breath. "He's a textbook narcissist, sir. His entire sense of self is derived from the people around him. It's like his world is a giant mirror. If people think he's a good person, then he is. If they think he's... charming, or intelligent, or romantic, then he is."

"Is this my excuse for never buying flowers again? Romance makes me a narcissist now?"

"No, you don't understand. What he actually is – his motives, his ethics – have no relevance. The only thing that matters is what people see. And so he'll do anything. He'll lie, cheat, manipulate. Whatever it takes to ensure the feedback he gets is what he wants to hear."

"If they think he's a good person, then he is," O'Neill echoed. "And if they think he's a god? Does he actually believe that, Captain?"

"No," she answered immediately. "No. He's not insane."

His eyes were hidden, but he turned to stare at her, and she got the point.

She sighed. "Clinically," she edited. "At least, unless something's changed. He knows he isn't a god, sir. But I have no doubt he'd play one. The high that gives him must be..."

"Yeah." Her CO adjusted his hat. "We can out him, Captain. We can prove to these people that he's not what he says he is. That makes us a threat to this little kingdom he's got here. You get that, right?"

"Yes, sir."

Jack glanced sideways at her, fairly certain she didn't. Not really. And he wondered whether her past with their little megalomaniac made her more or less likely to end up in a pile of ashes like Frakes.


	19. Chapter 19

Daniel tossed Sam an MRE packet and sat down to start heating his as Teal'c and Connor worked on the campsite perimeter. She stared at the packet, not at all hungry but knowing she needed to eat, and finally tore it open.

"I know he made you nervous, but he seemed sane enough at the SGC," Daniel said, digging through his pack for a bowl. The man never wanted to eat from the packet.

She sighed, wanting to dodge the conversation. "I guess so."

"For awhile there, Jack thought you were gonna go back to him."

For awhile there, she'd thought that, too, and she just flipped the MRE packet over in her hands.

"Were you?"

Sam sighed, looking for an easy way to explain the impossible and coming up empty-handed. "Have you ever been crazy, all-out, head over heels for someone?" she asked him finally.

To her surprise, Daniel nodded. "Yeah."

"Sha're," she realized, and he nodded again. She winced. "But that's... different. You two were isolated. And it didn't last very long. And it didn't fall apart on its own."

"So... what? She just doesn't count?" the archaeologist shot back.

"No, no, of course it counts; it's just... not the same kind of thing. It kind of kills the metaphor." Though, if she were completely honest with him, she'd tell him flat-out that a year wasn't enough time to fall out of the infatuation stage. Maybe Sha're hadn't been the woman of his dreams at all, and they just hadn't been together long enough for him to figure it out. Shoving that thought aside, she wracked her brain for another analogy and finally settled for stealing Janet's. "Have you ever smoked?"

Daniel immediately opened his mouth to answer, then thought about it for a moment and asked, "Smoked... what, exactly?"

Surprised, Sam's eyebrows slowly lifted.

"I... uh... Well, look," he defended. "There was this stuff on Abydos, kind of like..." Realizing he was merely digging himself a deeper hole, he cleared his throat. "But I suppose that's not really important, right? So, uh, no, I've never smoked. Cigarettes. Which is what you meant, I think. Cigarettes."

She shook her head. "Never mind."

Well, that confession had been awkward, and he shifted his attention to the MRE, dumping it into a bowl and taking a bite. "This tastes like chicken."

Immensely grateful for the change in subject, Sam glanced at Daniel and asked, "So what's wrong with it?"

"It's macaroni and cheese."

Oh. Well, that made her even less enthusiastic about her own dinner – not that she had an ounce of appetite, anyway. She tossed it back in its overwrap and hoped no one would notice.

But that left them in silence. And she couldn't stand the silence, because it meant that someone could ask about Jonas at any moment. So when Connor sat beside her, she tried again. "So, uh, any indigenous lions, tigers, or bears I should lie awake worrying about?"

He shook his head. "The plant life's all that seems to live very long in the sun."

"Now, how could something like this actually happen?" Daniel asked from beside her. "I mean, the SG teams are supposedly made up of well-trained professionals."

And there it was. She looked away, which unfortunately left her looking at Connor, who said, "Well, when we first met the cave dwellers, they immediately bowed down to us – thought we were gods."

"Well, that's a fairly common phenomenon," the archaeologist said. "I mean... it happens."

"Except Hanson didn't deny it. Told us it might be safer if we allowed them to think he was a god for awhile. Said it was the... system of government they needed to retake their world."

"And you were okay with that?" Daniel's tone echoed Sam's thoughts exactly.

"Frakes was our anthropologist," the other man explained. "He agreed with Hanson that it might be safer. But the longer we stayed here, the stronger they believed."

And the easier it was for Jonas to play along. Sam set her teeth.

"In our fourth or fifth week here, a young child wandered out of the caves – must have gotten lost. Hanson went out after him. He was gone for two full days before he came back, carrying the child – barely alive – in his arms."

Of course he had. Jonas had always had a soft spot for children – he'd wanted his own. _Their_ own. Pain struck deep in her chest. "The cave dwellers must have loved him for that."

"Yeah, they did." Connor shrugged. "He wasn't the same after that."

She blinked. "You're saying that's what sent him over the edge? The sun?" She knew better, and even if she didn't, that theory sounded so ridiculous...

"It wasn't any one thing," the other man said with a sigh. "If it was, me and Frakes, we could have seen it coming. Done something about it before..."

"Before what?" Teal'c asked.

"There were a few cave dwellers who got the idea that Hanson was just a man like they were. Thanks to Frakes and I. He had them tied to stakes and left out in the direct sunlight. If they lived seven days, they were allowed back in the caves."

She knew Jonas was capable of killing – that was his job. She'd watched him beat a man to the ground and refuse to stop. But leaving them to roast in the sun? That was... was _torture_ , and suddenly she was glad she hadn't eaten. Her stomach flipped, sending its acid straight up to the back of her throat, and she was pretty sure she was going to vomit before Daniel's voice distracted her.

"A number of significant biblical events took place over the course of seven days."

"By then they were blind. Giant, bleeding burns all over them," Connor went on, and she just prayed for him to _stop_ , to take it back, to admit that it was all a lie. "Just took them a little longer to die. Personally, I'd rather eat a bullet."

Sam couldn't take any more, and she was debating how big the perimeter was – how far away she could get – when her CO said softly, "I'll take first watch."


	20. Chapter 20

Connor was missing. Whatever she'd managed to convince herself the day before – that Frakes was a misunderstanding, that Connor was overstating the evil he'd seen – the attack had made it all so suddenly, horribly real. Sam stared up at the stars, trying to find some sort of order there, some sense of normal. But they weren't her stars.

The only sense she could seem to make of anything boiled down to one thought: Colonel O'Neill had sent SG-9 on this mission because of her. Jonas was here because of her.

And it wasn't a far leap to say, then, that Connor had been abducted because of her. That those men had been tied out in the sun to die because of her. That Frakes – one of her own – had died because of her.

Another day, another situation, and that knowledge would have killed her. Her worst fear had always been to lose someone in the field and know it was her fault.

But it wasn't.

It was Jonas' fault.

Maybe it was this planet. Maybe it was just weeks after she'd rejected him. But if it wasn't here and now, it would be some other time.

And he would still find some way to pile it all on her shoulders. Because he liked to watch people suffer. Specifically, he liked to watch _her_ suffer. He always had.

She didn't feel sick anymore.

She was pissed off.

 

**~/~ ~/~**

 

"They were probably just instructed just to take Connor," Daniel was saying, and Sam wondered if he could see the steam coming out of her ears. The rage had sunk to a simmer, but it refused to go away. "Send us a message that Hanson's in control."

"Sounds familiar," she muttered.

"Which part?"

"He likes control."

"Oh. Well, what did you see in him?"

In hindsight, she didn't have a clue. "I don't know. I guess I've always had a soft spot for the lunatic fringe. He was... He was charming."

"Well, that's good. Charming is good."

She shook her head. "I don't know. I should be more surprised by this than I am, but I'm not. You know, he had this in him, Daniel. Too many years of Black Ops."

"Well, that's typical of our government's evaluation of soldiers," he said. "The crazier they are, the more extreme the situation they seem to be put into."

That, she knew, was a vicious cycle. "He wasn't happy when I broke off the engagement, but he seemed like he'd really pulled himself together when we met up at Stargate Command." And the little pool of lava in her gut rose at the reminder that he'd fooled her so readily.

She didn't have much time to dwell on that, though, as Teal'c's hand suddenly came up and brought them to a halt. Daniel glanced at her, but she shrugged – she didn't hear anything, either. All she could do was follow her CO and their resident alien down a poorly-worn path to a rocky overhang.

The valley below was a wasteland. No trees. No shade. And yet hundreds of the indigenous people toiled away. And she knew they were dying. And the nausea rushed back. Teal'c and Colonel O'Neill were discussing something, but she wasn't paying attention, surveying the partially-constructed temple to the man she'd once thought she'd loved.

Even now, she wasn't sure what she felt. Just as she wasn't sure whether Jonas was sick or just the galaxy's biggest asshole. She leaned heavily toward the latter.

"Captain," her CO said, yanking her back to the present, "when the time comes, I'll need your help to get in the front door."

She'd known that from the moment she'd stepped through the Gate. "I'm prepared for that, sir."

"There will be none left to worship him if this continues," Teal'c spoke up as the colonel disappeared down the path.

"They're like Abraham."

Setting aside her binoculars, she stared at Daniel in disbelief.

"Who was Abraham?" the alien asked.

"A biblical figure," the archaeologist began, and she tuned him out. God didn't have a thing to do with this. It was the work of a power-hungry, cold-blooded killer.

Or a mad man.

Or maybe both.

It would be so much easier if she could decide.

A struggle erupted at the edge of the boulder field, and Sam focused in on the last member of SG-9 slamming the butt of his rifle into a native. "Hey. Look over there." Even as she handed over the binoculars, she knew what she had to do, and she pushed to her feet.

"Whoa, where are you going?" Daniel asked.

"I can't just stay here and watch him beat that man to death."

"You will be captured," Teal'c insisted.

"Uh-huh." Exactly.

Her human teammate blinked. "And you think that's a plan?"

"Daniel, I can get to Hanson. That's what the colonel was talking about," she pressed.

"Well, can you at least wait until he gets back?"

Was he kidding? "The man could be dead by then." And dead well before she ever convinced Daniel of her plan. Hitching her rifle closer to her chest, she headed down the path.

 

**~/~ ~/~**

 

He wasn't crazy. He was an egotistical bastard still trying to manipulate her. If anything proved that, it was the three women posed at his feet. And the fact that his greeting was, "Well, it's about time."

"Hello, Jonas," she answered coolly.

"And you never thought I'd amount to anything. Quite a leap, isn't it? From captain to-"

She had exactly zero patience for his bull. "What's happened to you, Jonas?"

"Please, sit down." For a moment, Sam considered staying on her feet just to spite him but opted to pick her battles. She sat. "These caves were once mines," he explained. "They permeate the hillside for miles, but these people have been multiplying like rabbits. They don't have the technology to dig themselves more space; they don't have the courage to leave the caves. It's like a third world country in a bottle."

"And you think you're saving them," she put in dryly.

"Oh, I know I am." The certainty of the words made her swallow hard. Maybe he knew he wasn't a god, but he'd sure as hell convinced himself he was a hero. Jonas the Good Guy. Always. "These people, they're human beings. They're like us. How can we turn our backs on them? Kidnapped from Earth, forced into slavery for centuries?"

"We can't change that."

"Yes, we can. We must help!"

"Well, how does posing as a god and slowly working these people to death _help_ them?" she challenged.

"I hate that word! Stop using it! _I am not posing_!"

Her breath caught. Holy Hannah, the colonel had been right. Jonas actually believed what he was telling these people.

And that was terrible news – for her, for the indigenous people... for the rest of SG-1. Because her plan had been to talk him down, one way or another, and that relied on him being at least somewhat sane. That relied on the fact that he hadn't had a complete mental break. Her stomach twisted into a knot and pulled tight.

"It is a matter of definition," he pressed calmly. "My people need me. They believe in me. And because they believe, they work."

"To death."

"We're building a civilization, Sam. There are going to be sacrifices. It's better than rotting in caves, living and dying in squalor like you've never seen. I'm creating a great people."

"In your image?"

"Yes. It's going to be wondrous. You'll see. You'll see."

She was already starting to. And it was so much worse than she'd imagined.


	21. Chapter 21

"I really wish I could understand these drawings."

Sam pressed her lips together, annoyed that he could stare at cave drawings while the workers outside slowly burned to death. "Why don't you ask your people?"

"All knowing," he reminded her with a shrug and a smile. And she knew at least part of him was still in there.

The worst part. She angled herself closer to the pile of Air Force gear as he stepped past her. "You knew I would come, didn't you?"

"How could you not?" he asked magnanimously, reaching for a ladle of water. "Healer of the emotionally wounded. I was your one failure. The bird with the broken wing that wouldn't heal."

"You seem to be flying well enough on your own," she muttered.

"I hoped that you would understand." Tossing the rest of the water, he turned his back on her to return the ladle.

And she seized her chance, snatching up her sidearm and chambering a round. "I do understand. You're sick and you need help."

For a second, he looked legitimately surprised to find her weapon leveled at him, but it faded quickly. "That's your idea of help?"

"Yes. You're coming back with me." And then going to a padded room far, far away. Where she and everyone else would be safe from him.

"Well. You're gonna have to use it, Sam," he said, and her chest clenched. That hadn't been the plan. She was armed; he wasn't; the logical thing to do was surrender.

And it suddenly occurred to her that she'd forgotten logic didn't work on Jonas.

"Go on," he pressed, stepping closer, and she shifted on her feet, trying to distract him from the way her hands started to shake. "It's still loaded; pull the trigger. _Do it_!" he snapped, sending her pulse through the roof and cracking her nerves.

She was going to have to shoot him. And that had never, ever been part of the plan. She sucked in a breath and prayed for strength.

"Because so help me, that is the only way you're gonna stop me. What's a few deaths compared to the survival of my people? Killing their savior might irritate them a little," he said, moving in, "but at least I'd be gone."

Tears pricked at her eyes as she pleaded, "Don't make me do this." Because of all the terrible things that had happened on this planet – all the things she'd told herself were solely his fault – this would be hers. Her finger on the trigger. Her decision. Sam Carter, killer.

"Go on, pull the trigger. One more fraction of an inch."

He was inches from death, but it was _her_ life that passed before her eyes. All the good she'd ever done, erased in one awful moment if she fired. She knew he was relying on that.

And she knew, in the moment before his hand wrapped around the weapon and took it from her, that he'd won.

That he would always win.

That, god or not, Jonas Hanson would own her for the rest of her life.

"You had the gun," he murmured, always willing to twist the dagger a little bit more. "You appeared to have all the power. Yet I was in control. _That_ is the strength of a god."


	22. Chapter 22

Sam followed him willingly out of the caverns, letting Jonas usher her to his little perch overlooking the valley. There was no point in fighting anymore – he held all the strings, and they both knew it.

"It's going to be magnificent, isn't it?"

"What's the point, Jonas?" she asked sadly. "By the time it's built, there'll be no one left to worship you."

"Please," he scoffed. "Mere survival for these people will require unquestioning faith. Pure devotion. They must believe in _me_ if I am to lead them into the desert to the promised land. I'm merely separating the wheat from the chaff." And then, to her alarm, he promptly dropped the magnanimous, godly tone and said wryly, "Besides, I'm supposed to be crazy, right?"

"I never said you were crazy."

"But you think it, don't you?"

The sudden switches between narcissism and insane megalomania weren't exactly putting her at ease, no.

"Well, that's all right," he said. "I still have faith in you, even if you don't believe in me... yet. You'll come around."

"I don't think so, Jonas."

She'd actually _tried_ to phrase that in the most placating way she could think of, but it was still rejection, and his eyes went cold. "Come here," he ordered, grabbing her sleeve and hauling her back into the cave. Ordering the guards to wait outside – he had nothing to fear from her, and he knew it – he led her beyond his little throne room, pulling down a curtain and unveiling an old domed device.

Sam couldn't help it; she was curious. "What is it?"

"Looks like something the Goa'ulds left behind," he told her. "What I've gathered from the local folklore is that the ancient gods used it to make the sky orange to protect the people from the sun sickness."

"Some sort of shield," she mused. She'd never imagined such a thing was possible.

"Yes."

"You don't know how to work it."

His eyes landed solidly on her. "Not my area of expertise."

The truth hurt far, far more than it should have, and she laughed once to keep from crying as she said, "You never cared about my coming here because you wanted me, Jonas. You just wanted me to figure out how to turn this thing on for you."

"Oh, no," he soothed, his hands finding her waist. "That's not true. I sincerely hope that one day you will agree to be my goddess."

But she wasn't buying it, and she knew he could see it in her eyes.

He'd been everything to her. And now she knew for certain: she was nothing to him. Nothing but a tool.

"Turn it on," he ordered coldly.

"What if I won't?" she challenged.

"Then we will watch every last cave-dweller die in the sun before I kill us both."

Maybe he was sick. Maybe he was crazy. But he was one hundred percent serious about that.

 

**~/~ ~/~**

 

A shadow passed over Sam as several people entered the cave, and she pushed to her feet. "Colonel O'Neill."

His hands were literally tied, and that was bad news. Terrible news. Because he'd been about the only hope she had left.

"Captain," her CO greeted dryly. "I see everything's working out just as we planned."

That jab hit almost as hard as any of Jonas'. The _plan_ had been for her to be an asset, not a liability. Not some poor, helpless woman who needed saving. After so many months of working for his respect, she'd failed him. She'd failed all of them.

Stripping the GDO from Colonel O'Neill's arm, her ex ordered, "Shoot him."

"No!" she cried, anxious. "All right, I'll..."

"Wait," the colonel said as she turned back to the device. "You're gonna turn this thing on in here?"

"Do it now. If it works, I'll spare him," Jonas offered.

With a sigh and a glance at her CO, she went back to work.

 

**~/~ ~/~**

 

The guards behind them weren't leaving much room, and every time Sam's pace faltered – to step over a branch, or navigate a slope, or whatever – the tip of a spear nudged against her back. She still had her vest on, and it wasn't so bad, but every time Connor grunted, she winced.

She could have put a stop to this, and she'd failed.

The colonel was clearly getting the spear treatment, too. And he'd obviously come to the same conclusion that she had. Between that and the idea that they were going to die at the end of this forced march to wherever – no matter what Jonas had promised – he was _pissed_ , and she could feel it.

"I'm sorry, sir," she said softly.

"It's a little late for that, don't ya think?" he drawled.

She swallowed hard and kept walking.

"Tell me, Captain," he went on, "so I know who to haunt for the rest of eternity: did the Air Force know Jonas was a loon? You told Daniel you weren't surprised by this, but did you _tell_ anybody? Did you _do_ anything about it, or did you just hand him back his engagement ring and walk away and figure it wasn't your problem anymore?"

That accusation hit hard enough to make her miss a step, and the spear shoved her along again. Still, it took a moment for her to find the words. "Regardless of my personal opinions, sir," she answered slowly, deliberately, "the Air Force knew more than enough to put a stop to it."

"Like what?" he challenged.

"Christmas of '94 his team came home from a mission with two guys in body bags. That wasn't the first time, but this... Something had happened out there, and Jonas... He was freaking out, and there didn't seem to be anything I could do about it. He felt like he was losing control, I think, and that's not something he handles well. He got written up for insubordination, went to drink it off, and ended up starting a bar brawl that put three people in the hospital. One almost died." And she knew that because she'd been standing over them, yanking at the back of his shirt, trying to get him to stop throwing punches at a man who'd long ago lost consciousness.

"He mouthed off at the hearing," she went on. "Got knocked down a rank. Grounded. You can imagine how well he took that." Taking a shaky breath, she continued, "He's been through meds. Counselors. Group therapy. I guess that's where he got that Bible, because he sure wasn't a believer when we were together. When he ended up at the SGC, I thought he'd actually pulled things together. But now... I think he fooled them. Just like he fooled me."

The sigh was audible before he asked, gently this time, "What aren't you telling me?"

She didn't answer.

They stumbled along in silence for a long moment, and just when she thought she was about to burst into tears, he said softly, "Not your fault, Carter."

Well, at least _he_ thought so.


	23. Chapter 23

It was over.

It was over, and Jonas Hanson was scattered in subspace, his atoms unable to materialize against the iris she'd built.

It was over, and the man she'd been so in love with for so long was dead.

She'd told Teal'c she'd thrown up because of her head injury, knocked against the shield emitter after Jonas had hit her. But even the Jaffa wasn't a complete idiot, and he'd been sticking close as Daniel and Colonel O'Neill worked with the natives to right the Gate.

She couldn't take their sympathy. She didn't deserve it. She'd failed them more times in the last day than she could count on both hands. She'd watched as two members of the SGC nearly became martyrs to her own bad judgment, and it was crushing. But that wasn't why she'd thrown up.

He'd used her. He'd played her, the way he always had, and when that failed and he couldn't win his game anymore, he'd tried to take her with him. The man she'd loved had tried to kill her. But that wasn't why she'd thrown up, either.

No, it was because – after the shock, the horror – what she felt was relief.

She reconnected the DHD and ran her scans, trying to keep the answers she gave her colleagues short and to the point. She didn't want conversation. She couldn't manage it. She wasn't human enough for it.

A voice in her head said the feeling was normal. That the threat had been eliminated, and what or who that threat was didn't matter. That this was her training. That this was being an Air Force officer.

And another voice said that being an Air Force officer meant eliminating the threat, not letting others clean up her garbage, and that she had no right to call herself that when she was such an abysmal, miserable failure.

She swallowed hard and turned back to the man who'd saved her. Who'd nearly been killed in the attempt. "I think we're ready."

"Think we should tell 'em to bury the Gate after we're gone?" Colonel O'Neill asked.

"Teal'c seems to think the Goa'ulds won't be back," she managed.

Daniel stepped up beside her. "Maybe we should come back and check on these guys."

The last thing she intended to do was set foot back on that planet. "I think we've done enough, don't you?"

And he left, leaving her alone beside her CO. Uncomfortable with the silence, she opened her mouth to at least _try_ to apologize and found that no sound would come out.

"Something else on your mind?" he prompted.

And it all spilled out. "I had the chance to end this, Colonel," she confessed. "He literally asked me to do it."

"Killing a man is no badge of honor, Captain."

"I know." She hadn't wanted to. She never wanted to. But she hadn't joined the Air Force to fail so spectacularly at it, either. Some things had to be done.

"Look, I'm no expert on this thing," he said, flipping through the Bible Jonas had waved like a shield, "but I generally remember one commandment. I think it's the first."

She nodded. "I am the Lord your God, and you shall take no other gods before me."

He pondered that for a second. "Okay, it's not the first one. I'm talking about the 'no killing' one. No matter what the reason, every time you break it, you take one step closer to Hanson."

That sounded like... forgiveness. Like the choice she'd made had been of strength, not weakness. Tears pricked at her eyes as she managed, "Thanks."

It was embarrassing almost crying in front of her CO, but his eyes were gentle as he waited for her to pull it together. And then he held out the Bible, pressing her moral code firmly into her hands before he walked away.


	24. Chapter 24

Daniel carefully pulled the latch on the front gate and stepped just inside the white picket fence, taking a moment to examine the house in front of him. It was the right size for one person, sure, but... quainter than he would have thought. For her. Somehow he'd imagined her in one of the spiffy new condos – the converted warehouse, yuppy type with all stainless steel appliances and brand new everything.

Then again, she also drove a classic car. At least, he hoped that was her classic car out front and that he wasn't seriously interrupting something.

The closer he got to her house, the more he felt like he just might be. He thought they were voices, at first – loud voices – but the bass beat made him feel better. She wasn't fighting; she was just destroying her hearing beat by beat. That he could deal with.

He rang the doorbell once but could hardly even hear it past the music. He didn't figure she heard it at all, so he rang it again. Then he shifted the bag in his hands and knocked. Loudly.

The only response he got was shattering glass.

It wasn't like she'd thrown something against the door or anything – it was distant, muffled in the beat of the music. But whatever it had been once, it was in serious need of some crazy glue. And maybe so was its owner.

He knocked again, as loudly as he could, and when he got no answer he tried the knob. It turned easily in his hand, and he poked just his head into the house. "Captain Carter?" he yelled, trying to reach over the surround sound system that shook the house. "Sam?"

Still nothing. He didn't really know her well enough to just walk into her house, but he'd come in the first place because he was concerned about her – about what frame of mind she might be in after Hanson's death. And nothing he'd seen (well, heard) since he'd hit her doorstep had made him feel any better. He stepped inside and pushed the door closed behind him, trying to be as noisy as possible, letting the grocery bag rustle and bang into things.

But he couldn't possibly overcome the music, especially not the way he found her. She leaned against her entertainment center, her back to him, dead centered between two blasting speakers, letting the music wash over her.

_You with your silky words  
_ _And your eyes so green and blue  
_ _You with your steel beliefs  
_ _That don't match anything you do  
_ _It was so much easier before you became you_

_Now you don't bring me anything but down_

Yeah, from what he'd seen, that was about right. "Sam?" he called again, not really wanting to sneak up behind her. " _Sam_!"

She turned – not like she'd heard him, really, but like she was wondering what that tiny, obnoxious noise had been – and leapt about three feet straight up when she saw the intruder in her house. "Doc – Doctor Jackson!" she stuttered.

That was what he _thought_ she said, anyway – he couldn't hear her anymore than she had heard him. He waved his fingers in front of his neck. "Can you kill the music?"

Okay, poor choice of words. But he didn't imagine she'd heard them. She did, however, get the point, and she jammed a button. The silence that followed, the end of the chest-thumping beat, was so blissful that he momentarily lost what he'd come to say.

"Um... Daniel," she said finally. "What are you doing in my house?"

"Well, I rang the doorbell. And I knocked. A bunch. But I heard something break, and the door was unlocked, so..."

With a wince that he wasn't sure was about the music, the glass, or the unlocked door, she nodded. "Sorry. I was, um-"

"I heard. Does the angry music help?"

"A little, actually."

"Okay." So maybe he had been interrupting something, anyway. He took a step back. "Well, I'll leave you to it, then. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"No, that's, um... How did you know where I live?" she asked.

"Oh. Well, I told the general I was a little worried about you, and he gave me your address."

"Ah. Of course he did."

Daniel didn't know what that meant, but he filed it away for future reference. "I, um... I brought ice cream. 'Cause I figured... what woman doesn't like chocolate ice cream, right?"

"Um..." It was her turn to step back a little. He wasn't sure what he'd said wrong, but her jaw went a little tense. "I'm not sure you've heard... Doctor Jackson," she joked carefully, "but I just went through this whole big thing with an ex. And I'm not really lookin' for-"

"Oh, no," he interrupted quickly, pointing to his chest. "I'm married."

"That doesn't stop as many guys as you apparently think it does."

Maybe she had a point there; he couldn't be sure. "Right. Ah... Believe me, you're a very attractive woman, but that's not why I'm here."

She stared at him for a moment, gauging him, before shooting him an apologetic smile. "So, um... two spoons? I'd offer you a bowl, but that sound you heard was kind of the last in a series."

"Sure," he chuckled, calling after her as she left the room, "and now I know what to get you for Christmas."

Returning with two massive soup spoons, she curled up at one end of the couch, tucking a leg beneath her. He settled next to her, leaving space for the now-open pint of dessert. He let her down two or three dainty bites before he spoke again.

"I, um... I know what you told Jack, and I agree with him. I think there's more."

The spoon stilled halfway to her mouth and she stared at it, frozen as the food on the spoon.

"Look. You don't have to tell me anything. I just want you to know that if you want to, I'll listen. Whether it's today, or next week, or... next year. I'll listen."

"Thank you," she said softly. "That's sweet."

"I just figured, you know, you can't know a lot of people here yet. And the military types, they... Well, Jack thinks emotion of any sort is a crime against humanity, so..." He grabbed another spoonful of ice cream. "Things hurt, you know? And I get that. So just, uh... if you want."

She nodded a little, but just took another bite of ice cream.

"Or we could talk about something else," he offered lightly. "Music. Classic cars – though I should mention, I don't know a damn thing about cars – or... or music, really, or... or I could just go."

"Please don't."

He smiled a little at the admission – that she didn't want to be alone. "Want some help sweeping up your kitchen?"

"No." She sucked in a breath and buried the spoon upright in their shared dessert. "I used to have a lot of friends," she said softly, looking not at him but at the stereo across the room. "A lot of people to talk to."

"Before Jonas?" he guessed.

"Yeah." The laugh that escaped was humorless. "I kind of divide my life into two parts, you know? Before and after Jonas."

"Wow. How long were you two together?"

"Two years. He was... amazing. At first. He treated me like a queen – opened doors for me, took me to the most incredible restaurants. Even then, I thought it was too good to be true. I should have listened to my gut, huh?"

"Hindsight is twenty-twenty," he reminded her gently.

"I thought it was romantic... how he wanted to spend all our free time together. I didn't realize that what he was really doing was systematically cutting me off from everything else. When I met him, I was popular. I had a million friends. And by the end of a year with Jonas, I had none." She blinked. "And I didn't even realize it."

Daniel took a massive bite of ice cream and said around it, "Obviously you saw through him eventually."

"It was too late by then," she said, more to the ceiling than anything as she let her head drop onto the back of the sofa.

"What do you mean?"

"Once he had me hooked, everything changed. Slowly. And by the time I realized who he really was, I was stuck. Because he had me convinced that no one else would ever want me."

Daniel nearly dropped his spoon in surprise. She was so young, so spirited... He found it difficult to believe that anyone could break her down that far. "That could never be true," he pressed.

A small smile flitted across her face. "Thanks."

"Help me out here; this stuff is melting."

Carefully, she scraped away the softest layer of the sweet treat and ate it.

"So, what woke you up? What made you leave?" When her shoulders slumped, he added, "You don't have to tell me."

"No, I... kind of want to. It was after that mission, when he was really losing it. For the first time, I was afraid of him. I mean, I'd known for a long time what he was capable of, but I'd always told myself it wasn't directed at me. That he would never, ever lay a hand on me. But I started to doubt that. I started to flinch. I was just uneasy, all the time. I felt like he was one wrong word away from exploding. And I told him I wouldn't live like that, and I packed my suitcase."

"Good for you!"

She shook her head, tipping it back to land on the sofa again. "It wouldn't have lasted. I'd have gone back. I always went back."

"Uh... I don't think I understand," Daniel said.

"I never made it out of the house. We got into an argument about it, and... He didn't mean for it to happen," she insisted. "I know that sounds like a cop out, but it isn't. I'll never forget the look in his eyes when he realized I was falling. When he reached for me and missed."

"Falling?"

Her eyes slipped closed. "When we were fighting, I... He kept looming over me, and I was sick of it, and I pushed him. And he... pushed back. Not hard, but I... I tripped backward over my suitcase and smashed my head into the coffee table. When I woke up, I was in the hospital, and they told me two days had gone by."

"God," Daniel breathed.

She nodded, letting out a deep sigh. "They sent an SF with me to get my things. Jonas was there. He begged me not to leave him. He... he cried and told me he couldn't live without me. That it would never happen again. And you know the saddest thing? I would've stayed. I really would have. But the sergeant... He pulled me aside and told me that if I did, Jonas would kill me. Not that day, or the next... but one day he'd lose control, and I'd end up dead." A bitter laugh tore from her throat. "Turns out he was right, huh?"

He nodded a little. Jonas would have killed them all, given the chance – and when it all went bad, he really had tried to drag Sam with him. But speaking of the mission... "Why didn't you shoot him? When you had the chance?"

For the first time, the muscles in her face tightened as she blinked back tears. "Because I love him," she whispered. "He was twisted and sick and horrible, but... I can't help it. I love him. And he's gone."

Quietly, Daniel put the lid on the ice cream and shuttled it to the coffee table. He touched her elbow gently – an offer – and she looked surprised for a moment. But slowly, she leaned toward him, letting him loop an arm around her shoulders. Her face buried into the side of his neck and he pulled her tighter, wrapping both arms warmly around her.

"You know," he said softly, "I always thought of you as the outsider. The one who didn't have a reason."

She sniffled into his neck. "What?"

"Jack is looking for Skaara. I want my wife back. Teal'c is railing against the tyrants that have held his people down for generations. But you... Now I know."

She pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. "I have a lot to prove, Daniel. Not to anyone else, but to me. I'm doing this for me."

And he thought maybe that was the best reason of all.


End file.
